


Redshift

by Meep_Morp



Series: The World Calling [3]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Canon is dead I buried it in the backyard, Character Death, F/M, I'm just harvesting the bits I like from its corpse, M/M, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Pietro Maximoff Lives, Remember that bitch called Endgame? Yeah me neither, but not for long
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:14:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26113978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meep_Morp/pseuds/Meep_Morp
Summary: Tony once made a promise."If we can't protect the Earth, you can be damn well sure we'll avenge it."He intends to keep it.In the wake of Thanos eliminating half of all life in the universe, the surviving Avengers struggle to regroup and reconcile their past greviances with each other.Destiny demands that they come together one more time. Second chances don't come around often, after all.Trouble is, there's always strings attached.[Endgame, kinda. Then, not at all.][In-Progress!]
Relationships: Bruce Banner & Thor, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker/Original Male Character(s), Wanda Maximoff/Vision
Series: The World Calling [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1443694
Comments: 25
Kudos: 34





	1. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do hope you've all been well. Originally this fic was meant to be a brief summary of Endgame tailored this little AU of my own that I've built, but then I watched Endgame a few times, and it kinda killed my inspiration. Took me a while to find it again. But this is no longer going to be a little interquel like Louder Than Words was for Infinity War. As the tags say, it's my canon and I can do what I want. And what I want is to do it better than what we got.
> 
> The first few chapters will be similar (but not exactly) to Endgame, but pretty quickly things will start diverging from the film.

Three days ago, the Hulk had been in space, headed back to Earth alongside Thor and Valkyrie.

Two days ago, Bruce had crash-landed in the Sanctum Sanctorum, delivering a grave warning.

Yesterday, half the universe had still been alive.

Today, the world they thought they knew was completely unrecognizable.

Leaving Wakanda had been hard. It felt like they were leaving behind the bodies of their fallen comrades—even though in reality there wasn’t anything of them  _ left, _ save for Vision.

There was nothing to bury, nothing to mourn.

When the quinjet docked at the compound, Steve was the first one to depart. He walked away briskly, back straight, face hidden so they couldn’t see him crumbling into pieces.

As he watched Natasha hurry after Steve, Bruce realized he didn’t have the energy to pretend he was any better.

Thor and the raccoon—Rocket, he’d introduced himself as—left next, traipsing morosely down the ramp and toward the compound’s west wing, in the opposite direction of Steve and Natasha.

Rhodey met Bruce’s eyes as he unbuckled himself from the pilot’s chair. He opened his mouth, as if to say something...but there were no words that mattered anymore. His jaw locked shut, and he moved past Bruce.

Left alone, Bruce glanced around at the passenger seats. His eyes lingered on one near the back.

_ “E-everyone, Dr. Banner. I feel everyone.” _

He pinched the bridge of his nose, then rubbed his eyes and exited the quinjet.

Immediately, he almost wished he hadn’t. Pepper had emerged from the compound, and Rhodey was making a beeline for her. They slammed into each other with palpable relief, embracing tightly and whispering words he couldn’t hear. But he already knew what they were discussing.

_ What the hell is happening? Have you heard from Tony? _

_ I...I don’t know, Pepper. I’m sorry.  _

The thought of Tony made his heart ache. He’d been their first line of defense—intercepting Thanos before he could seize the Time Stone from Strange. But when Thanos had arrived in Wakanda, it was sitting snugly in the thumb socket on the Infinity Gauntlet. Had Thanos killed Tony? Even if he didn’t, had Tony survived all this devastation?

What about the spider guy with him? Peter? Bruce couldn’t even begin to fathom breaking the news about Connor. They were just  _ kids. _

* * *

Two days after the Snap, Bruce heard the term “decimation” dropped for the first time.

“That’s what the news is calling it,” Rhodey explained tonelessly, peeling himself an orange. The pair of them stood in the kitchen, illuminated by the soft orange light of dawn coming in through the compound's window. "The Decimation. Course, there are other names being thrown around too. The Rapture, the Judgment, but...Decimation is the most popular. What do you want for breakfast?"

_ That's not right, _ Bruce wanted to say.  _ A decimation means only a tenth of something was eliminated. So many more people died than just ten percent! _

But instead he said, "Oh," and asked if they had oatmeal.

That was also the day Natasha left the compound, unable to wait for the global census to finish tallying who had survived. There were people, like Fury and Clint, whose fates were still unknown. She needed answers.

Before leaving, however, she went around to each person in the compound and asked if there was anyone they wanted her to check up on.

Bruce knew how Natasha worked. She needed to keep herself busy, to keep herself  _ useful, _ so she didn’t drown in despair. Sure, it was almost certainly an avoidance tactic—they were all coping differently, and not the most healthily—but it was better than spending days cooped up inside. This was just her way of processing what had happened.

In the end, she left the compound with a list of names. Jane Foster, Darcy Lewis, Erik Selvig, Sharon Carter, Maria Hill, Scott Lang, May Parker, and…

“Betty Ross,” Bruce asked, when Natasha approached him.

Her eyebrows rose. “As in...”

“His daughter. She’s...a friend.”

He wasn’t sure what Betty was to him anymore—it had been almost a decade since they’d last seen each other—but that didn’t mean she wasn’t on his mind. He could never forget her.

“Done. Anyone else?”

He shook his head, and Natasha turned away, but then something occurred to him and he grabbed her arm.

“Wait. Connor, the, uh… He came with us to Wakanda.”

She nodded, her expression a stone mask. “I remember.”

“Can you find out if he has—if he  _ had _ family?”

Once again Bruce found himself struck by how much he  _ didn’t _ know about the kid. Connor had been living with the Parkers, but before that he’d been homeless. Bruce didn’t know the circumstances which led to that, but if he still had blood relatives out there… He had to at least try to find them.

“Sure,” Natasha replied without hesitation, and Bruce’s attention refocused on her. “Last name?”

“Um...” He’d only heard it once, when Connor had been yelling at Friday to let him in Tony’s lab. “Tan...Tanyard? That’s it. It’s Tanyard.”

She promised that if anyone was out there, she would find them. Bruce was just grateful for the attempt.

They all were.

* * *

Five days after the Snap—he refused to call it the Decimation—Bruce found Rocket outside on the compound’s lawn, disassembling their microwave while Thor watched indifferently.

“What is...going on here?” he asked, fiddling with his hands as the raccoon tossed a bit of scrap over his shoulder and muttered out a string of curses. Beside him was a small, pyramid-shaped structure, built out of what looked like even more scrap.

“He’s attempting to contact his ship,” Thor rumbled, without looking away from the scene.

“You know, this planet’s technology sucks ass,” Rocket complained loudly. “How hard is it for some humie to discover intergalactic communication? The science already  _ exists, _ do I gotta write you guys a manual too?”

“Uh...I’m sorry?”

“Not your fault your entire species is inept.” Rocket reached inside the microwave’s guts and pulled out a clump of wires. “Probably should have expected it. After all, Quill’s one of you. Well, halfway one of you.”

Bruce didn’t know who Quill was, so he had no idea how to respond to that. He leaned in closer, examining the raccoon’s contraption. “Anything I can do to help?”

“Nah, I got it. Just need to scrounge up a few more parts.”

“Well…maybe I can help you find them, so you don’t take apart all our—”

“Banner,” Thor warned lowly. At the same time Rocket’s ears went back, and he shot Bruce a glare over his shoulder. 

“Are you deaf? I  _ said _ I  _ got _ it. Go find your own project to work on!”

Bruce stepped back, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. Thor reached out and gently tugged his arm, leading him away from the scene.

“Come. He has his task, let us make our own.”

Still holding onto him, Thor led him into the compound and toward the common area. Instantly he made a beeline for a free-standing bar near the back of the room.

“Our task is alcohol?” Bruce asked dubiously, as Thor leaned Stormbreaker against the bar’s side and stepped behind it, inspecting the various drinks and beverage ingredients. “I’m not even sure I  _ can _ get drunk.”

“All the more reason for us to find out,” Thor replied simply. He pulled out two beers, cracked the caps off them effortlessly, and handed one over.

Bruce wasn’t very big on drinking, even before the Hulk became a part of his life. Alcohol reminded him too much of his father. Then, after the gamma accident, he’d stayed far away from anything which could lower his inhibition.

But the Hulk didn’t appear to be coming out any time soon, and if there was  _ ever _ going to be an appropriate reason to drink…

_ What the hell, _ he thought, and took a sip. 

* * *

As it turned out, alcohol  _ did _ affect Bruce, though it took a significant amount. When it became clear that beer wasn’t going to cut it, they broke open several bottles of liquor. At first, Bruce attempted to moderate himself by mixing rum with soda, while Thor appeared to have no reservations. He drank straight from the bottle, which Bruce found mildly concerning, but eventually dismissed it as necessary due to his non-human physiology.

Soon, the more he imbibed, the less he began to care about moderation. Mixed drinks tasted better but they took  _ time, _ and he clearly wasn’t going to have to worry about having a low tolerance. When Thor handed him a second bottle, Bruce disposed of his cup and drank the alcohol undiluted.

He went through this one much quicker than the first.

Hours later he found himself lying down the common area’s couch, pleasantly intoxicated. There was a mostly empty bottle of Bacardi 151 resting on his chest, and he was lazily watching Thor through the distorted glass.

“Aha!” the Asgardian crowed, emerging from behind the bar with a dark, amber-colored bottle. “Knew that...that wasn’t the last bourbon!”

“You’re not really s’posed to mix differen’ kinds of alcohol,” Bruce said thickly, raising one eyebrow at him.

“Maybe for humans,” Thor slurred back. “But I am mighty, Banner!”

Stormbreaker slipped from its leaning position against the bar and fell to the floor with a clatter, making them both jump. Then they laughed.

“You know,” Thor began, leaning back against the bar. He opened his bottle and took a long swig. “We haven’t really...talked, since last time.”

“Las’ time?”

“On Asgard.”

Oh. Right. The last time Bruce had been  _ Bruce _ in front of Thor was when he and Valkyrie had dropped him off at the palace so he could fight Hela. 

“You didn’t want to fight.” It was a statement, but Thor’s booming voice echoed across the room like an accusation.

Asgard seemed like a lifetime ago. Why was he bringing this up now? Blinking blearily up at the god, he fumbled to respond. “Yeah, but...there was a wolf. A  _ big _ wolf. ‘Twas gonna...eat people.”

Thor let out a small, petulant grunt in response. “So?”

Bruce sat up, much too quickly, and grabbed the couch for support as the room swam around him.  _ “So?” _ he echoed incredulously.

“You still didn’t have to do it.” The Asgardian took another long drink, smacking his lips. “Wasn’t your fight.”

Was he serious? Should Bruce have stood by and watched innocents get slaughtered? “You  _ asked _ for my help!”

Abruptly, Thor’s fist slammed into the bartop, punching a crater in the wood. “And you—” He interrupted himself with a massive belch, then started over. “And  _ you _ said it was a family matter! So...so what happened, Banner? Didn’t think I could handle it on my own, is that it? Thought you needed to step in before I made things worse?”

His mismatched eyes burned ferociously, and most people would have backed down from their heat, but Bruce didn't even flinch.

He understood true rage—how it felt  _ and _ what it looked like. But even more than that, he could recognize when someone was trying to save face by lashing out. Push people away, and they could never see just how hurt you really were.

Well, screw that.

“Maybe I decided that you’re  _ my _ family, Thor.”

The silence that followed was downright deafening, as Thor digested those words. His jaw worked silently a few times, and then his stormy expression became somber.

“You should find a different one, if you know what’s good for you. Anyone in my family seems to end up dead.”

There was only a little bit of alcohol left in the bottle Bruce held. He downed it in one gulp. Then, with as much conviction as he could muster, he said, “Well, tough.”

There was nothing he could say that would change things—he doubted  _ any _ words could offer comfort—but that didn’t mean Thor was right. Bruce had always been too stubborn for his own good, even before the Hulk, and that wasn’t about to change now.

* * *

On the seventh day after the Snap, Natasha returned to the compound.

Nick Fury, Erik Selvig, Sharon Carter, Maria Hill, Scott Lang, May Parker, and Betty Ross all appeared to have been disintegrated. Jane Foster and Darcy Lewis were alive, and though Thor looked slightly relieved to hear that, Bruce knew that his thoughts were firmly fixated on the dead.

The Barton family appeared not to have survived either. Natasha described, with a haunted look in her eyes, how she’d arrived at the farm to find a pile of ashes, too large to belong to just one person.

She did not, however, return empty-handed. At the site of Fury’s last-known location, she’d discovered a small device. It looked a little like a pager, the kind not seen since the days before cell phones. But it had been retrofitted with very advanced, very alien technology. Rocket dismissively confirmed it to be of Kree origin.

It only took Friday a moment’s analysis to report that it was broadcasting an incredibly powerful long-range transmission. The nature of the message, however, was lost on her.

_ “There are no words, human or otherwise, contained in the broadcast,” _ she’d explained as Bruce fiddled with the pager, connecting wires to its inner circuitry. Then he placed it in a large glass case, which slid shut.  _ “Its purpose is to signal something, not necessarily to communicate.” _

Bruce did not trust mysterious alien technology, even if it had been used by Fury.  _ Especially _ if it had been used by Fury. He wanted to destroy the thing, but had been outvoted by everyone else. Hope was in short supply, and they were all desperate for some. 

It wasn’t until the excitement of the pager died down that Natasha pressed a piece of paper into his hand. There was an address scribbled on it.

“Here,” she’d said. “I found them. Some of Connor’s family.”

“Not all of them?”

“Melissa Tanyard and her daughter Holly. The father didn’t make it. Doesn’t look like Connor’s been with them for a while, either.”

“He hasn’t,” Bruce replied, remembering the brief history lesson he’d been given by the boy. “But they deserve to know.”

If he’d known what was about to happen next, he would have left for the Tanyard residence then and there. Or maybe he wouldn’t have gone at all.

* * *

The pager’s battery died the very next morning. Bruce spent most of that day bypassing its battery to extend its life indefinitely. He succeeded, but was now reluctant to leave. If something happened while he was away, he’d never forgive himself.

Two days later, it died again, and this time he was unable to bring it back. But, as it turned out, that was entirely unnecessary.

Ten days had passed since the Snap when Carol Danvers arrived on their doorstep.

Well, not technically their doorstep—she’d waltzed straight into the compound as if she owned the place, demanding to know where Fury was. 

Her story, if she was to be believed, was an odd one. Apparently, she’d known Fury “back when he had two eyes” and the pair of them had thwarted a Kree invasion of Earth. Among other things.

Bruce wasn’t surprised in the slightest that Fury had been hiding Danvers’ existence from the Avengers—it was exactly the kind of underhanded tactic he expected from the former S.H.I.E.L.D. director. 

If it hadn’t been for Thanos, he would have demanded to know why Fury had never called her for the Chitauri invasion, or the Ultron crisis. But now he knew. She was Fury’s final gambit—the one he called when the Avengers lost.

Bruce failed to see how she could salvage anything from this disaster. When Danvers departed less than an hour after her arrival, rocketing into the atmosphere like a comet, he assumed she had a similar opinion. Earth wasn’t the only planet affected by the Snap. There was an entire universe out there grieving as well.

He left the next day. With the mystery of the pager solved, there was nothing keeping Bruce at the compound—and he’d put off Connor’s family for long enough.

Eleven days after the Snap, he arrived at the Baltimore address Natasha had given him.

The drive down had been haunting. He’d passed hundreds, perhaps  _ thousands _ of cars littering the highways. When he stopped to siphon gas (he still didn’t have any money to pay for it, even if there  _ was _ an operating station), he peered inside a few of the vehicles. Many of them were filled with dust on their driver and passenger seats. Impromptu tombs for all the people that hadn’t been saved.

One of the cars had an infant’s car seat inside, and Bruce had to swallow down bile as he passed it by.

The Tanyard residence was unremarkable on the outside—one half of a duplex in the middle of a mostly empty street. No one was outside, and Bruce wasn’t sure how many of the houses still had residents. It wasn’t just this street—the whole of Baltimore seemed like a ghost town.

As he approached the front door and knocked, Bruce hoped the Tanyards hadn’t packed up and moved somewhere in the aftermath, though it was certainly a possibility. He wasn’t even sure what he would be walking into—Connor had told him that he’d been homeless in New York before running into Tony’s protege. 

The door opened slightly after a few moments, and a woman peered out at him through the crack. She had Connor’s skin tone, hair, and his eyes—but their green seemed a little duller as she scrutinized him warily.

“Who are you?”

“I’m—” Bruce faltered for a moment, then continued, “My name is Bruce. Bruce Banner. You’re Melissa Tanyard?”

Her eyes widened, and he didn’t miss the way the door shut a tiny bit further. It used to be that people didn’t know him by his birth name. Back when the Hulk was more feared than celebrated. “Yes? What do you want?”

“I...” Bruce swallowed, his throat dry. He’d repeated what he was going to say a thousand times over in his head, like an inner mantra, but now that he was standing before Connor’s mother, all the words had escaped him. “I don’t want anything. I’m here about your son.”

She tensed. Emotion flowed across her expression, but not in a way Bruce could clearly recognize. 

Then she slammed the door in his face.

Bruce blinked, startled. Almost on instinct, he knocked again.

“Mrs. Tanyard?”

For a long moment, there was no reply. Bruce was about to knock a third time when her voice issued from the other side.

“I don’t have a son.”

There was a twitch in his subconscious, a flicker of green streaking across his vision. Unbidden, a pair of long-dead voices surfaced in his mind.

_ “Bruce, go to your room while I talk with your father—oh!” _

_ “Now I’ve told you this before, Rebecca, and you know I don’t like repeating myself. That ain’t my son. You hear that, Bruce? You got no father, no mother either! Not anymore. Remember that.” _

There were only so many reasons why a kid with still-living parents ended up on the streets. Bruce had suspected it, but he’d still hoped against hope that Connor was an exception.

He needed to start getting used to disappointment.

The agitation running around in his psyche was the most activity the Hulk had demonstrated since his return to Earth, but Bruce would rather let sleeping dragons lie. So he stepped away from the house, from whatever demons lay on the other side of that door, and walked away.

If no one else would mourn Connor, then he would.

* * *

Three weeks after the Snap, construction of the first memorials began.

There did not exist a method for dealing with the sheer number of simultaneous deaths anywhere around the world. Some people considered it a small mercy that there were no bodies to bury, while others thought it to be the worst part of the tragedy. As the names were tallied and the global census neared its completion, more and more people looked for a way to mourn. The decision to build tributes to the people lost, dubbed the Vanished, was perhaps the fastest consensus ever reached between nations.

In the United States, one of the chosen memorial sites was just outside San Francisco. It would be a long time before the marble slabs would be erected and names were carved into their surface, but it gave people something to focus on.

Most people.

Bruce was walking past the command center when he heard Rhodey say, “You can’t be serious.”

The next voice made him freeze in his tracks.

_ “Deadly, Colonel. You of all people ought to know that in times like these, it’s important that we show strength and unity.” _ Ross’ voice held an electronic tinge to it, which meant he wasn’t physically present in the compound.

“And your idea of strength and unity is throwing us into a prison?”

_ “The Avengers violated the Accords. Had you succeeded in Wakanda, perhaps there would be more leniency—” _

“Leniency?” The door was ajar, but it slammed wide open as Bruce burst into the command center. Rhodey and Ross both jumped at his intrusion, but the latter’s eyes widened and his nostrils flared.

The last time he’d been face-to-face (so to speak) with Ross, it had been 2010. Bruce had jumped out of an airplane over Harlem. In the eight years since then, Ross’ face had gained a few more lines, he’d gained a little weight, and he’d traded in army fatigues for a suit. Still, when Bruce looked at him, long-buried resentment burrowed up from the recesses of his mind.

_ “Banner.” _

“General,” Bruce replied evenly, knowing full well that was no longer his title.

_ “Steve Rogers and his friends damned themselves when they refused to sign the Accords,” _ Ross replied, turning his back on Bruce so he could address Rhodey once more.  _ “There is a slew of charges against unregistered enhanced going back at least two years. You and the rest of the team subjected yourself to those charges when you gave them shelter and refused to detain them.” _

“And we’d do that again,” Rhodey shot back.

_ “Your blatant disregard for the law and the safety of innocent civilians—” _

“I think you, of all people, should know what that looks like.”

Silence fell. Slowly, Ross turned back around to stare at Bruce.

“How long did it take to cover up what you did?” Bruce asked. “A year? Two years? That’s the only way you could have become Secretary of State. Does anyone else on the Accords committee know about Blonsky? How you injected him—a foreign soldier, no less—with the U.S. Army’s experimental super soldier serum? About all the people who died because of his rampage?”

Rhodey’s eyes widened a little, but otherwise he said nothing. Bruce stepped closer, jabbing a finger in Ross’ face.

“The second anyone on that committee finds out that an overseer of the Accords committed the kind of atrocity that he preaches against, how long do you think your position is going to last? How long until they pull on all your buried threads, and you’re exposed?”

“I think that hardly compares to what  _ the Avengers _ have—”

“People died!” Bruce shouted. Even though he wasn’t physically present, Ross still stepped away from him. The alarmed expression hadn’t vanished from Rhodey’s face, but he’d yet to intervene. “They would be alive today, if it weren’t for you!”

He was pulling up old ghosts, but if Ross was going to try to bury the Avengers, Bruce would make damn well sure he’d go down with them.

Whatever the Secretary had been about to say in response, however, was cut off when the door burst open. Natasha rushed in, quickly slowing to a halt when she saw the three pairs of eyes on her.

“You two should come outside,” she said, ignoring their guest.

Rhodey didn’t even hesitate—he severed the connection with Ross, ending the call. “What’s wrong?”

She had always been good at concealing her emotions, but Bruce knew her well enough to recognize a spark of hope in her eyes. “Danvers is back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> If you're an old fan of the series, then it's been a long time since you've heard from me. I do apologize for that. Life has a way of getting in the way of things. I shan't bore you with the details, but this fic is going to be published a little differently from the previous ones. I'm publishing updates as I write them, rather than waiting for the whole work to be done before I start releasing chapters.
> 
> This means quicker updates for you! However, the muse is a fickle creature, and it's difficult to write when you don't have much of an audience. So I humbly encourage you to encourage ME with a comment! Or a critique, I don't mind (just be civil). This story is currently unbeta'd, so feel free to call out any inaccuracies or typos as you see them. (and if you feel like being a beta, drop me a line.)


	2. Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From three weeks after the Snap to five years into the future, Steve settles things with Tony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve POV time! I'm trying to do a chapter with each Avenger. Steve was surprisingly difficult for me to write, and I agonized over the resolution of this chapter for a while. I still am, to be honest. But I'm satisfied enough with it that I couldn't put off publishing it any longer.
> 
> There are frankly, more time jumps in this chapter than I usually allow. But since I'm still working within the timeline of the movie I figure it's an acceptable exception--you didn't click on this fic just to read a complete transcript of Endgame.

Steve felt Danvers’ return before he heard it. The entire compound had shaken as if hit by an earthquake, and by the time he’d thrown on a shirt and run outside, the cosmic woman had set down a large, beat-up orange spaceship onto the compound’s lawn.

Bruce, Rhodey, and Natasha had brought up the rear—he slowed himself to stay in pace with them. Only Pepper remained ahead, but she wasn’t moving—she’d remained frozen in place, not daring to hope for a miracle just yet.

He understood that feeling.

The door to the ship opened, and a pair of figures descended from the ramp, bathed in its interior light. As they stepped closer, Steve recognized one of them.

Tony was pale, emaciated, and feverish, leaning on his companion entirely for support. She had blue skin, no hair, and what looked like metal grafted onto all parts of her body. He barely paid her any attention though—as soon as Steve recognized Tony, he broke into a full sprint again.

Steve had always been one to put the cart before the horse, and now was no exception. As he slowed down and reached out to take Tony from the alien, he realized he had no idea what to say.

Tony clearly didn’t either, because he was gaping like a fish. Even as he allowed himself to be deposited into Steve’s grip, he looked back toward his companion as if to make sure she wasn’t leaving.

There was so much—too much—to say, and none of it was appropriate right now. So, wordlessly, Steve began to guide him back toward the others.

Tony broke the silence first. “I couldn’t stop him.”

“Neither could I,” Steve admitted lowly.

“Hang on.” Tony seized his arm with sudden strength, forcing him to stop. His eyes looked like shattered glass. “I lost the kid.” 

Right, Tony had left Earth with the spider guy. From Queens.

_“Steve?”_

Bucky’s last word before crumbling to ashes would haunt him until the end of time.

“Tony, _we_ lost.”

He’d meant it as an olive branch, of sorts. An attempt to get through this tragedy together, like the good old days. Judging by the spark in Tony’s expression, however, it had not been interpreted that way.

However, he seemed to choose to ignore it. “Is, uh...”

Pepper had begun clearing the distance between them when they stopped walking. As soon as Tony saw her, pitched forward, stumbling into her arms.

“Oh my God,” she whispered, teary-eyed, rocking him gently. “Oh my God, Tony...”

He placed a kiss to her cheek, unable to do much else.

* * *

Bruce hooked Tony up to an IV bag and gave him a wheelchair, with firm orders not to leave it. Pretty much everyone would have been content to let him rest and recover from his harrowing ordeal in space, but Tony was never one to focus on his own health. Instead, he wheeled himself into the compound’s command center and all but demanded an update.

“It’s been twenty-three days since Thanos came to earth.” Rhodey tapped at several holographic images which were being displayed from the center of the table. They changed, cycling through the faces and names of various people that had been lost. When Bucky’s face appeared, Steve felt another knife slide into his heart.

“World governments are in pieces,” Natasha added dully. “The parts that are still working are trying to form a census, among other things, but it looks like he did…”

As she continued talking, the pictures changed. The next one to flash across the screen was that of a teenage boy, fair-skinned with short brown hair. Projected below it was the name PETER PARKER. Steve didn’t recognize him at first, but judging from the way Tony immediately looked away, he figured this must have been the kid. Spider-Man.

He glanced up when the image changed, to that of another teenage boy, with darker skin and hair. The corresponding name read CONNOR TANYARD.

Steve had barely exchanged a few sentences with the kid, and knew nothing about him other than that he’d put his life on the line alongside the rest of the Avengers. He was already so full of grief he didn’t think he could take any more, but the pang in his stomach made him wish he’d gotten to know Connor a bit more.

Tony, upon seeing Connor’s face after Peter’s, weakly mumbled, “Stop,” and Friday turned off the projections instantly.

“Where is he now?” he demanded, glancing around expectantly at the others.

“We don’t know,” Steve replied bitterly. “He just opened a portal and...walked through.”

“Right. What’s with him?” Tony, in classic form, was rapid-firing questions to distract himself. Steve had seen him do it before. He followed the outstretched hand, which was gesturing at Thor.

“He’s pissed,” replied Rocket from the floor. Tony wheeled around to face him, eyebrows raised. “He thinks he failed. ‘Course, he did, but there’s a lot of that going around.”

“Honestly, until this exact second, I thought you were a Build-A-Bear.”

“Maybe I am.”

“We’ve been hunting Thanos for the past three weeks,” Steve said, attempting to return the conversation to a more important topic. “Deep space scans, satellites, and we got nothing.” When Tony didn’t reply, or even look his way, he continued, “Tony, you fought him—”

Even in his skeletal state, the speed at which Tony’s head turned to address him was frightening. “Who told you that? No, I didn’t fight him. He wiped my face with a _planet_ while the Bleecker street magician gave away the store. That’s what happened.”

Steve lowered his head, so no one could see his aggravation. “Okay.”

“There was no fight, because he’s unbeatable—”

“Did he give you any clues, any coordinates, anything?” Steve pressed.

Tony pointed at his temple, as if attempting to think, then mimed a gunshot with his fingers and blew a raspberry. It only served to chip away at Steve’s patience even further.

“I saw this coming, a few years back,” Tony continued, gaining momentum. His voice hadn’t lost its weak quality, and he sounded nearly delirious. “I had a vision, didn’t want to believe it. Thought I was dreaming—”

The dam broke. Steve stood up, towering over him from across the table. “Tony, I’m gonna need you to focus—”

“And I _needed_ you.”

The words were uttered with such quiet fury that all confrontation within him faltered instantly. The contempt coming from behind Tony’s sunglasses was almost enough to make him feel like a skinny kid in Brooklyn’s alleys again.

“Needed. As in, past tense. That _trumps_ what you need. It’s too late buddy. Sorry.”

There was a bowl of soup on the table in front of him. He hadn’t touched it, but now he slammed the spoon into it, sending the dishes flying with a clatter. “You know what I need? I need a shave!”

He stood up unsteadily, wobbling, and started digging at the needle attached to his arm. Rhodey immediately swept in, attempting to placate him. 

“And I believe I remember telling all of you, alive and otherwise—” He ripped out the needle and cast it aside, whirling to face Steve at his full height. “—that what we needed was a suit of armor around the world. Remember that? Whether it impacted our precious _freedoms_ or not. _That’s_ what we needed!”

A muscle twitched in Steve’s jaw. Tony was going to justify himself with _Ultron,_ of all things? “Well that didn’t work out, did it?”

“I said we’d lose, and you said, ‘We’ll do that together too.’” His voice deepened mockingly. “Well, guess what, Cap? We _lost._ And you. Weren’t. There.”

He punctuated each word with an accusing jab of his finger, and Steve’s shoulders slumped.

“But that’s what we do, right?” Tony turned to address the rest of the room, who all had their eyes trained on him like a nervous audience. “Our best work after the fact? We’re the Avengers, not the Pre-vengers.”

“Tony!” Rhodey had backed off to let him speak, but now that he had begun to sound delirious again, he stepped back into his personal space. “You made your point, just sit down, okay?”

“No, no, here’s my point!” He turned and pointed at Danvers, who was watching the entire exchange with raised eyebrows. “She’s great, by the way.” 

He shoved Rhodey away, and stalked around the table. Once again, his anger had been directed back at Steve. “Buncha tired old mules. I got _nothing_ for you, Cap. I got no coordinates, no clues, no strategies, no options. Zero. Zip. Nada. No trust, _liar._ ”

Something cold and dense slithered into his gut, rendering him speechless.

Tony wasn’t done, apparently. With shaky breaths, he ripped off the arc reactor attached to his chest and slapped it into Steve’s hand. “Here, take this! You find him, you put that on, you _hide._ ”

Then he collapsed, dropping to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

* * *

The medical wing was just adjacent to the common area. Through its glass walls, Steve watched Pepper sit beside Tony, who was out cold. Bruce was talking to Rhodey, but he couldn’t hear what they were saying.

He turned the arc reactor over in his hands, rubbing his fingers across its surface. The device was scratched and scarred, damaged from whatever encounter Tony had had with Thanos on Titan.

_Liar._

“Steve.”

He glanced back up. Rhodey had exited the room.

“How is he?”

Rhodey’s expression was unreadable. After a moment of silence, he said, “Let’s talk.”

They both sat, gingerly, on the sofa. Tension crackled in the air between them like a live wire.

“He’s upset. Mostly at you. Some of it at himself.”

“I know.”

“That’s the thing, Cap, I don’t think you really do.” There was fire in Rhodey’s eyes as he met his gaze head-on. “I know you’re a stand-up guy, with the best of intentions, I really do. And I’m gonna be honest, it’s only those intentions that are keeping me from throwing you out of this compound.” Without breaking eye contact, he pointed at the medical wing. “That guy in there is my best friend. He is like a brother to me. Do you know why he’s angry with you?”

It took him several moments to finally say, mouth dry, “Siberia.”

To his surprise, Rhodey shook his head. “No. He’s upset because you let him down.”

Steve frowned. “But...”

“He was plenty pissed about Siberia, believe me. But he’s had decades to process his parents’ deaths. Knowing why they died doesn’t change the fact that they’re gone.”

 _But he still tried to kill Bucky,_ he wanted to say. It must have been written on his face, however, because Rhodey said, “I’m not saying he was in control when the truth came out. But can you fault him for that?”

“No.” Even at his angriest, Steve couldn’t forget the raw pain in Tony’s words.

_I don’t care. He killed my mom._

Rhodey sighed. “Steve, look. Tony has never put stock in people’s words. How could he, the way he grew up? Actions have always defined people for him. So when you defended Barnes—”

“What would you have done?” he demanded. “Just...just let him kill...?”

“No,” Rhodey replied calmly. “It would have killed me, but if I’d had to, I would have done exactly what you did.”

Once again, Steve was caught off-guard by the admission. He supposed it made some sense. Rhodey wouldn’t have wanted his best friend to kill anyone in cold blood.

“But _I wouldn’t have left_ after stopping him,” he added, before silence could fall between them. “You _did._ You walked away. You hurt him, deeply, and then sent him a postcard saying that you’d try to be better next time. And now...” He shrugged his shoulder, briefly glancing up at the ceiling before settling his attention back on Steve. “Now he’s lost the closest thing he ever had to a son. _Thanos_ is the one responsible, but Tony blames himself all the same. And if he can’t even forgive himself for that, Steve, how can he forgive you for the past few years?”

For that, he had no answer to give.

At that moment, Natasha and Danvers strode into the room.

“How is he?” Natasha asked.

“Bruce gave him a sedative,” Rhodey replied, glancing at her. “He’ll be out for the rest of the day.”

“Great. You guys take care of him, and I’ll bring him a Xorrian elixir when I come back.”

Steve raised his eyebrows at Danvers. “Where are you going?”

“To kill Thanos.” Then she turned on her heel and left as quickly as she’d come.

All three Avengers looked at each other, then hurried to follow her.

* * *

Danvers hadn’t known where Thanos was hiding, but it turned out she didn’t need to. The blue-skinned alien who had arrived with Tony, whom Rocket introduced as Nebula, had the answers they wanted. She was a child of Thanos—albeit estranged, unlike the Black Order who had come to Earth.

According to her, Thanos was on a planet called the Garden. With access to his ship again, Rocket was able to use the tech inside to search for energy signatures which matched the Stones. Sure enough, a very similar wavelength appeared on a planet matching the Garden’s description only two days ago.

Danvers was the first to voice the idea of using the Stones to bring everyone back, but she hadn’t been the only one thinking about it. Virtually everyone’s minds were firmly on the dead.

As Natasha had put it, if there was even a small chance…

Steve had never particularly had a desire to go into space—life on Earth was weird enough, and the multiple alien incursions hadn’t exactly warmed him up to the rest of the galaxy. When they hit the first “jump” as Rocket had called it, he was focusing more on the idea of not throwing up rather than the majesty of the stars.

The Garden was a verdant world about twice the size of Earth with significantly more landmass. The planet was so rich in fauna that it was virtually impossible to scan for Thanos’ biosign from orbit, and it was too big to conduct a flyby survey. Instead, Rocket was able to pinpoint an approximate location of the Stones by zeroing in on their energy signature. It wasn’t exact, but it narrowed down their search to about a few square miles of territory on the southern hemisphere..

Danvers had offered to fly ahead and scout the place out, but Steve didn’t want to send anyone in alone. She took point, but rather than wait for her return he had Rocket set their ship down just outside the target area.

As the ramp extended, and Rhodey and Bruce began unloading their armors from the cargo bay, Natasha approached him.

“You ready for this?” she asked.

Steve didn’t really know. So instead, he said, “It’s going to work. It has to.”

He didn’t know what he’d do otherwise.

“Alright, we’re ready to roll out,” Rhodey said. The remaining heroes departed the ship, heading in the direction Danvers had flown.

The Garden was, in all honesty, stunning. The vegetation didn’t resemble anything like that of Earth, both in color and shape, but it was beautiful all the same. As Steve stepped under an orange, low-hanging fern, he caught sight of a blue-scaled bird with two pairs of wings flying overhead.

“In other circumstances, this would be pretty cool,” Natasha remarked quietly.

“Do us all a favor and don’t touch anything,” Rocket griped from behind them. “The last thing we need is to piss off the wildlife. Or the flowers.”

Rhodey, who had been about to poke a spiny, pinecone-looking bulb attached to a tree, quickly retracted his finger.

 _“Guys.”_ Danvers’ voice crackled through their communicators. _“I’m half a klick ahead of you. You better get here quick.”_

They double-timed it, shoving their way through the foliage, until suddenly all of the plant life gave away to blackened, scorched ground. Steve brought up the front as the group emerged into a clearing, approximately fifty feet in diameter. Everything inside the perimeter had been reduced to ash, destroyed as if a localized wildfire had burned its way through, then extinguished itself into a perfect circle. In the center of the clearing, stood Danvers. Her back was to them.

They approached warily. Steve scanned the jungle around the clearing with cautious eyes, in case they were walking into an ambush. But they reached Danvers without incident.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Slowly, she turned around. In her arms, nearly as big as her entire torso, was a mangled hunk of metal. It was so badly scarred and burned that Steve didn’t recognize it immediately. But as he scrutinized it, the object’s markings and shape became familiar.

It was the Infinity Gauntlet. From how Danvers held it, he could see that Thanos’ arm was still inside it, severed just below the elbow. It had the stench of decaying meat, but most disturbing of all were the knuckles on the device.

They were empty. The Stones were gone.

“Oh no,” Rocket whispered.

“Where are they?” Rhodey demanded, looking around wildly. “Where is _he?_ ”

Danvers turned the gauntlet over in her hands, and pulled back the fingers. Clutched in the center of its palm was a small, black cube. Steve reached out and picked it up.

Instantly the device responded at his touch, sending out a flash of blue light. He dropped it, and Rocket immediately trained his weapon on it, but Nebula stepped in front of him. “No, wait!”

The light floated around the cube where it had fallen, curling like wispy smoke. After a moment, it coalesced into a humanoid shape. By the time its features sharpened into focus, Steve already guessed who it would be.

“I knew you would find your way here, sooner or later,” Thanos rumbled. He looked in even worse shape than he had after snapping his fingers in Wakanda—scar tissue ran rampant across the left side of his torso and face, and the stump of that arm was shriveled and deformed. 

“What did you do?” Steve demanded

 _“No doubt you’re wondering what I’ve done,”_ Thanos continued, and belatedly he realized this was a recording, not a communication. _“You, Avengers—however many of you are left—should look to the other survivors and be grateful. The Stones served their purpose—the only thing they could provide now was temptation. Their power may be infinite, but their existence is not. The Stones are gone, reduced to atoms.”_

“No.” Natasha’s voice was barely a choked whisper.

 _“My work is done. It always will be.”_ Thanos’ smile was a combination of triumphant and grim. _“Look for me if you wish. If you seek revenge. But it won’t matter. It won’t change anything.”_

Then the image dissipated into static.

“He—he has to be lying!” Rhodey exclaimed. His helmet retracted, revealing panicked, wide eyes. “He has to be!”

Nebula shook her head. “My father is many things, but a liar is not one of them.”

Reluctantly, Steve glanced down at the cube. If Thanos really had destroyed the Stones, it would make sense. Tactically, it was the best option. As long as the Stones existed, even if the Avengers were gone, there would always be the potential for someone to undo what the Mad Titan had done.

Suddenly, with a flash of silver, the cube was pulverized by Stormbreaker, accompanied by Thor’s howl of rage and the booming of thunderclouds overhead.

Silence fell. There were no words to say, nothing that could change what had happened—what was truly, now and forever, irreversible.

“I will find him,” Thor declared, his eyes brimmed with murderous hate. “I will find him and I will kill him.”

Steve stepped forward. “Thor—”

But the Asgardian rocketed into the air, guided by his weapon. For a moment, he hovered above the jungle, as if hesitating. But then he shot straight into the atmosphere, climbing higher and higher until he was a distant glimmer among the stars.

“What do we do?” When no one responded, Natasha touched Steve’s arm. It was gentle, and uncharacteristically vulnerable of her. When he met her eyes, he saw his own feelings reflected in them. “Steve?”

He couldn’t answer. Danvers dropped the gauntlet, pinching the bridge of her nose. Rocket dropped to his knees, shoulders sagging. Bruce and Rhodey both turned away. Nebula simply stood like a statue, silently watching the remaining Avengers fall apart.

Defeat wasn’t a mystery to Steve. In World War II, he’d lost more than a few engagements with Hydra before turning the tide. He’d lost people and allies as an Avenger. Failure was the risk of every mission. But he’d learned how to shoulder it, how to get back on his feet, and keep moving. When all else seemed lost, hope kept him going.

Now, he didn’t even have that.

* * *

**FIVE YEARS LATER**

The world did not move on.

Earth’s population had yet to recover from the Snap. With the sudden loss of life, entire cities were claimed by nature—there simply weren’t enough people living in one place to keep it modernized. The harbors were clogged by unmanned ships pulled into shore by currents, and there weren’t enough people to remove them. Wildlife could now encroach upon industrialized territory, but the Snap had affected them as well. Multiple species had become newly endangered, and those already in critical status were pushed further to extinction.

Steve had lived through the Great Depression—he thought he’d seen the worst living conditions that a failing economy could force upon people. But after the Snap, wealth disparity only increased. Some, like Tony and Pepper, donated as much as they could and attempted to employ as many survivors as possible. But not everyone was as altruistic, and while the rich could stay rich, their companies failed and the people employed in them suffered the consequences. The world economy was in tatters, and entire countries were still destabilized and not anywhere close to recovering.

It wasn’t the utopia Thanos had seemed so sure would come about. 

As Steve entered the compound, he could hear Natasha speaking with Rhodey, who was on the ground in Mexico. Just outside the command center, he paused.

_“The Federales found a room full of bodies. Look like a bunch of cartel guys, never even had a chance to get their guns off.”_

A cough, then Natasha spoke. “It’s probably a rival gang.”

 _“Except it isn’t,”_ Rhodey said, firmly. _“It’s definitely Barton.”_

When Natasha had discovered a large pile of ashes at the Barton farm, too large to belong to one person, no one had questioned that Clint had also been killed by Thanos. If anything, that would have been the kinder fate, rather than be spared and have to live a life without your wife and kids.

But then bodies started dropping, about six months after the Snap. They were all criminals, some of them pretty influential and powerful. The first few dozen were full of arrows, but pretty quicker the killer had begun using a sword. Less profile that way.

But the arrows were enough to convince Rhodey that Clint was alive and killing his way through the criminal underworld, one continent at a time. Natasha hadn’t wanted to believe it, but as the evidence mounted, her protests rang hollower and hollower.

 _“What’s he done here, what he’s been doing for the past few years—”_ Rhodey sucked in a breath. _“I mean, the scene that he left...I gotta tell you, there’s a part of me that doesn’t even wanna find him.”_

The following silence stretched on long enough for Steve to wonder if Natasha had left the room. But then, in a choked voice, “Will you find out where he’s going next?”

_“Nat?”_

“Please.”

_“Okay.”_

As Rhodey ended the call, Steve thought about leaving, returning later in order to give Natasha some privacy. But, he realized, he’d already violated her privacy by eavesdropping. And she could probably use a friend.

He stepped through the open doors, turning the corner to look at where she was seated at the center table. There was a plate with a mostly uneaten peanut butter sandwich in front of her. Her eyes were red, and wet, and her body trembled with the shaky breaths of restrained sobs.

“You know,” Steve began, stepping forward. Natasha didn’t even flinch—she must have picked up on his presence as soon as he entered the building. Even upset, her skills were still sharp. “I’d offer to make you dinner, but you seem pretty miserable already.”

She smiled weakly at him. “You here to do your laundry?”

“And to see a friend.”

She leaned back in her chair, fixing her expression into a neutral mask. “Clearly, your friend is fine. How was counseling?”

Steve sat down opposite her, and crossed his arms. “Same as usual. We’re all...trying to put ourselves back together. You’d think after five years it would get easier, but...”

“It doesn’t,” Natasha finished solemnly. “I know.” She sighed, glancing at the papers scattered in front of her, around her sandwich—intelligence reports from various nations, or what was left of them; seismic activity in the African plate; a folder full of dossiers on the active and inactive Avengers.

It was this folder that Steve picked up. He thumbed through the names highlighted at the top. Rocket, Nebula, Natasha, himself, Rhodey, Carol…

“No Thor?”

Natasha shook her head. “Carol’s been looking for him, but he’s dropped off the grid. The galaxy is still a big place, and with that axe of his, he could be anywhere. If we can’t call on him for help, he’s not exactly active anymore...”

Rocket and Nebula were tertiary members who operated mostly in space, and Carol had a thousand different obligations to other planets. They were allies, and dependable ones, but that still left himself, Natasha, and Rhodey as the only Avengers on duty. Bruce had left two years back, claiming he needed to do some soul-searching. Tony had retired.

“Sometimes, this doesn’t feel like a team anymore,” he admitted.

“It’s not a team,” she said, causing him to look up from the dossiers. “Not to me. Never has been. All...” She sighed, gesturing at the documents. “All of _this,_ it’s family.”

Steve’s small little smile pulled at the muscles in his face, making them ache with disuse. “I guess we fight often enough to be one.”

“Sometimes families fall apart,” Natasha agreed, with a wet chuckle. “But...sometimes they come back together, too.”

“You still hope this one will?”

“I have to, Steve.”

A holographic symbol appeared just front and left of Natasha. She tapped it, and a third voice flooded the room. When he heard it, Steve practically jumped out of his chair with her, turning to face a video feed that was projected in the middle of the room.

“Oh, hi, hi! Uh, is anyone home?”

The image was of outside the compound, depicting a beat-up van and a face he’d not seen in nearly seven years.

_Scott Lang._

* * *

Years ago, at the airport in Germany, if anyone had told Steve that _Ant-Man_ would hold the key to saving trillions of lives...he would have been skeptical.

Granted, he hadn’t arrived on their doorstep with a fully laid-out plan. In fact, he barely had a concept of one. But it was the first idea Steve had heard that not only seemed plausible, but _doable._

Traveling through the quantum realm to a different point in time period sounded like the kind of insane science that he’d only see in a movie, even despite all the crazy things that had happened to him in the 21st Century. But then, Steve himself had sort of time-traveled, hadn’t he? He just hadn’t had a say in it.

There were problems with the idea. Obstacles they would need to surmount. The most glaringly obvious one was that they needed someone with the skill and knowledge to make this happen. If she were still alive, Steve would have voted for Shuri. As it were, he did contact Okoye and gain her support as well as whatever Wakandan resources they would need. But they still needed a mind.

There was only one other person on the planet who even had the capacity for this kind of work.

“Quantum fluctuation messes with the Planck scale which then triggers the Deutsch Proposition,” Tony said, with the air of one explaining to a child that one plus one equals two. As he spoke, he handed Steve a glass of iced coffee. “In layman’s terms, it means you’re not coming home.”

They’d driven out to the lake house Tony and Pepper had built, and caught him just as he was heading inside for lunch. His daughter, Morgan, was already bigger than in the last photograph Steve had seen of her. She scampered around the house with all the energy of a puppy, while the adults sat in chairs on the back porch.

“I did,” Scott piped up from the corner seat. “I came back.”

“No,” Tony corrected immediately. He poured another glass for Scott and offered it to him. “You accidentally survived. Billion-to-one cosmic fluke. And now you want to pull a...what do you call it?”

“A time heist?”

“Right, of course. Why didn’t we think of that? Oh, right, because it’s laughable. It’s a pipe dream,” Tony snipped, handing another cup to Natasha.

“The Stones are in the past,” Steve said. “We could go back and get them.”

“We could snap our own fingers,” Natasha added. “We could bring _everyone_ back.”

Tony rolled his eyes and massaged his temple with a free hand as he poured his own coffee. “Or, we could screw it up even worse.”

“I don’t believe we would,” Steve replied.

That was evidently the wrong thing to say, because Tony’s eyes narrowed. “Gotta say, sometimes I miss that giddy optimism. But high hopes won’t help if there is no way to safely execute this...time heist.” He leaned back in his chair, and took a sip, smacking his lips. “The most likely outcome is our collective demise. And even if it succeeds, great. Let’s say somehow we manage to make a Delorean. How do we navigate the timeline without destroying the fabric of reality? Once you open this door, you have to consider everything from the butterfly effect to the grandfather paradox.”

Steve could tell Scott was beginning to lose his composure. He took a deep breath, and said, “I know you got a lot on the line. You’ve got a wife, a daughter. I _understand_ that. But I lost someone very important to me—”

“So did I,” Tony cut him off, bluntly. “But no, Scott. I won’t do it. You don’t know what you’re asking. That’s the problem.”

“Tony,” Steve tried again. “We can do it safely.”

“Okay, how about this? We somehow don’t die, and we figure out how to go back in time. Where do we go?”

Natasha frowned. “We figure out—”

“Nuh-uh. I wanna hear it from him.” Tony set his glass down and crossed his arms. “What’s the plan, Cap? Walk me through it.”

Steve frowned, but decided to play along. “We go wherever the Stones are. We get them.”

“Right, okay, let’s track that back. Pick one. Oh, how about the Tesseract? We all know that one, right?”

Scott shook his head, but Tony ignored him.

“Pick a point in time where you know the Tesseract is. The 40s, maybe? Do a little stealthing in the original Hydra stomping grounds, get a rematch with the Red Skull? Great, but what happens then? You remove the Tesseract from the 1940s, Hydra doesn’t develop its weapons. Hydra doesn’t try to bomb the world. There’s nothing for you to stop. There might not even _be_ a you to stop something. And without you, what about the rest of us? What about the Avengers? The Chitauri, Loki, New York, all of that. Time is in constant fluctuation, Steve, and it’s incredibly sensitive. We would need to pinpoint a location where the Tesseract wouldn’t be missed by anyone, where it wouldn’t change our history at any point. Otherwise, we could write ourselves out of existence. Us and anyone we’ve ever bumped into on the subway. So tell me, right now—how are we going to do that for all six Infinity Stones? It’s impossible.”

Now it was Steve’s turn to develop a headache. “Whatever comes our way, we will deal—”

“No!” Tony’s fist pounded the table between them. “That’s the thing! That is the problem! You, none of you, have not even a _shred_ of the perspective needed for what you’re asking. I’m thinking about the big picture. You want to save everyone, Steve, I get that. I do too. I miss—” He stopped, blinked twice, then swallowed and continued. “We all want someone back. But we need to remember what we’re risking in order to do it.”

At that moment, the glass door beside them slid open, and Morgan ran out, jumping into her father’s lap. “Mommy told me to come save you!”

All of the anger drained out of Tony instantly. He melted at Morgan’s touch, scooping her up into his arms. He put his cheek against the top of her head, and closed his eyes. “Good job. I’m saved.” After another moment, he opened them to stare at Steve, Natasha, and Scott. “If you guys had any other idea. Any at all. I really wish I could help with this one, but I can’t. And I won’t let you risk everyone without a plan, either.”

His embrace around Morgan tightened a little, and with a sinking feeling, Steve began to realize that Tony wouldn’t back down from this. He couldn’t afford to. He wasn’t wrong about the risk, but also—

_You let him down._

Steve never wanted Tony to lose faith in him, but that’s exactly what had happened.

* * *

Without Tony, there was little else for the trio to do but go back to the compound and look for alternatives. 

There were other geniuses in the world, but none living who had quite the same skill set as Tony. Even if such a person did exist, the idea of going behind Tony’s back despite his explicit warning made guilt roil around in Steve’s chest.

The morning after their unsuccessful venture to the Stark residence, Steve was sitting at the kitchen island, watching the untouched cup of coffee in front of him slowly cool down.

“Is the, uh, television broken?”

The voice made him start, and he twisted around in his seat to look at the source.

“Bruce?”

He had more grey in his hair, and a few new lines on his face, but it was definitely him. There was a backpack slung over one of his shoulders, and he was a few days late in needing a shave.

He smiled—a warm, yet tired gesture—and stepped further into the kitchen. “Hey, Steve.”

“What are you doing here?” he asked, opening up for a one-arm embrace as Bruce neared. He returned it, clapping him on the back, and pulled out the stool next to him.

“Nat called me,” he replied, dropping his backpack on the floor next to him. “Says there might be a way to fix everything. Reverse what Thanos did. She thought I might be able to help. Time travel isn’t really in my wheelhouse. I told her to talk to Tony, but he...”

“Won’t do it,” Steve confirmed, shaking his head. “The thing is...I get why. I thought I already understood him, but...I think this time it’s the real deal.”

Bruce frowned, tilting his head like an inquisitive dog. “What do you mean?”

“Tony, he...he and I didn’t always see eye to eye on everything. That’s obvious. But there was a time where we’d watch each other’s backs, and trusted each other. And then we...didn’t.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” was the wry response. Steve gave him a wan smile.

“Even if we could, Bruce, I don’t want to do this without him. If we’re going to be a team—be a _family_ —again, I need him to trust me. But I don’t know how.”

“I do.”

At seeing his raised eyebrows, Bruce continued, “Nat told me what Tony said. About perspective. Not having a plan. So come up with one.”

Steve snorted quietly. “Just like that?”

“Didn’t say it’d be easy. But then, when is the right thing ever?”

He considered it. The science behind Lang’s idea was completely beyond him, but...he knew tactics, and strategy. If they managed to pull this off, turn it from a theory into a reality, they’d need a game plan.

“I could use some help.”

Bruce grinned, looking younger than he had in years. “Why do you think I came all this way?”

* * *

Eighteen days later, after hours upon hours of sleepless nights and frustrating dead ends, Steve picked up the phone and called Tony.

_“If you’re calling because you turned someone into a baby, the only words I have for you are ‘I told you so.’”_

Steve blinked, a little unsure how to react to that. “I have a plan, Tony.”

An exasperated sigh filled his ear from the other end of the line. _“Cap, I told you—”_

Before he could start, Steve overrode him. “Hear me out, Tony. That’s all I’m asking. I thought about what you said. A lot. We called Bruce, and the four of us put something together. It’s just a theory. I’m not calling to ask you to put on your armor or head down to your lab. I just want to know what you think, that’s all. Give me five minutes.”

There was a lengthy pause, and Steve thought he was about to hang up, when:

_“Five minutes. Go.”_

Explaining it to Tony only took three. When he finished, Steve sucked in a deep breath. “So?”

“Huh.” The tone of that single word was simultaneously incredulously and—reluctantly—impressed. _“Simple. Old-fashioned. Definitely has you written all over it. But...”_

Steve resisted the urge to roll his eyes, or project the gesture into his voice. “But?”

_“That...actually might work. Maybe. It’s still a hell of a long shot. If it fails—”_

“Nothing is ever guaranteed, Tony. We’ll be taking steps to get the best odds. But we can’t do it without you.”

There was yet another silence between them. However, this one was shorter.

_“You and Pepper on the same day, that’s gotta be manipulative somehow.”_

He smiled.

 _“I figured it out two weeks ago. Time travel. I’ve been sitting on it, not sure if I should throw it into the lake or not...turns out, it’s hard to not hope.”_ Tony’s light tone turned more serious. _“Listen, Cap. I gotta tell you my priorities. Bring back what we lost, I hope, yes. Keep what I found? I have to, at all costs. This plan of yours, it’s...doable. But we need to do it right. If I feel like our chances start going down, we pull the plug, stop it right in its tracks. There’s too much at risk, you hear me?”_

“I do, Tony. I understand.”

This time, when he said it, Steve really did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. Ahem.
> 
> The differences between this fic and Endgame are becoming more clearer now, I hope.
> 
> My biggest concern while writing this chapter was that, as an Irondad fan, I would be coming off as anti-Steve, which I don't consider myself. I can't please everyone, but I hope that my criticisms of Steve and Tony's problems with him will not be met with pitchforks and torches. Civil War's release was about the time I stepped away from the MCU fandom because of all the infighting. I didn't really come back until Infinity War came out.
> 
> As always, any comments or critiques, insights you may have, are always welcome and encouraged. I would not have churned out this chapter so quickly if it weren't for those who already commented--you have my gratitude. And if you're interested in betaing a story, I'm still looking!
> 
> Thor's chapter is up next. Don't worry, though, you'll find out what Steve's plan is.


	3. Trials

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thor is approached by Captain Marvel. The plan--and the team--comes together, along with the return of an unexpected ally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy, if the response is any indicator, I hope people weren't too upset with the Steve chapter. Maybe this one will make you feel better.

_ Jaqari’s _ was hardly the best establishment on Contraxia. Nestled in the shadow of the Sepulcherin Mountains, it was a dive which had few rules and even fewer patrons. Alcohol was one of many vices to be found on this planet, and Thor wasn’t picky about where he got a drink from. However,  _ Jaqari’s _ had yet to throw him out and deny him reentry, so for that reason it was currently his preferred place on this icy helhole.

“Another.”

The bartender, a four-armed, blue-skinned Lascivian, poured a viscous, purple liquid into a short glass and slid it down the bar at him. Thor caught it without looking, picked it up, and effortlessly down the drink in one gulp.

There were few other patrons around tonight, but those who were there all gave him a wide berth. Even if he didn’t have Stormbreaker strapped to his back, Thor positively radiated a dark, sour aura. He folded his hands over one another, elbows resting on the bartop, and glowered at the bottles leaning on the back wall across from him.

“Another.”

This time the bartender stomped down the length of the bar and picked up the handful of glasses Thor had discarded. Using his multiple arms, he refilled one of the glasses while tossing the rest into a plastic bin. After setting down the drink in front of the Asgardian, he set the bin down in a grimy sink under the counter and began lazily scrubbing them with a dry sponge.

Thor downed this one just quickly as he had the others. The burn of the alcohol left a little trickle of warmth down his esophagus, but it wasn’t enough to warm him against the planet’s endless winter. There weren’t many types of drink left in the galaxy that could knock him off his feet. Earth’s selection was plentiful, and could get him sufficiently drunk if he imbibed a lot, but by and large they tasted like water. Sakaar’s stuff had been stronger, but there was no way he would go back there, even for that. This purple...whatever-it-was, it did the job.

“Another,” he called again, now a bit of slurring in his words.

However, when this glass was set down in front of him, it was immediately plucked from the bartop by a slender, red-gloved hand. He followed the hand to its owner, who had appeared suddenly at his left side.

“Thor,” Carol Danvers greeted neutrally, raising the glass toward him as if giving a toast.

He stared at her, dumbly, for a moment, then said, “You cut your hair.”

She shrugged one shoulder. “It was getting in the way.” A critical eye inspected his whole appearance—dirty clothes, Stormbreaker lashed to his back by a leather strap, and his own mane of golden blond hair which was back to its normal length. However, it needed a good wash. “You let yours grow.”

“I like mine this way.” He reached out for his drink, intending to take it from her, but Carol pulled it out of his reach. Then she knocked it back effortlessly and slipped onto the stool beside him.

“You know, considering how difficult it was to track you down, I expected you to be...somewhere more interesting,” she commented.

A dry, humorless chuckle escaped from his lips. He turned away from her, resuming his glaring at the wall. “What do you want?”

“I got a communication from Earth a few weeks ago.” She set down the glass, not looking away from him. He could feel her stare from the corner of his eyes. “I told Romanoff I would be out of contact for a while, so the fact that it reached me at all is surprising. I almost don’t want to know what favors she and Rocket had to call in to get it to me.”

Thor waved two fingers at the bartender, who shuffled over with another glass. “And how are things on Earth?” he asked dully.

“Good, as far as I can tell. Really good, actually. Your people are settling in nicely, in case you cared—”

Immediately Thor rounded on her, leaning in close, lip curled in a snarl.

Carol did not even blink or appear intimidated in the slightest. In fact, judging by the twitch of her lips, this reaction seemed to be her desired one. “What? You asked.”

“Do not—” He jabbed a finger in her face threateningly, swaying a little. “Do  _ not _ question my concern for my people.”

Her eyes flicked back and forth across the bar around them. “You know that rings a little hollow when you’re halfway across the galaxy in a dump like this, right?”

For a moment, Thor seriously considered hitting her. It wouldn't be the first barfight he’d have started on Contraxia. But after a moment, all the fight drained out of him, and he slumped back in his seat. Guilt began to drip into his stomach. “I suppose. But at least they’re alive.”

When she frowned, he clarified, “Anyone who gets too close to me has died. Horribly. It’s safer if I stay away from what remains of Asgard.”

“Right,” Carol said, in a tone that clearly indicated she thought that was horseshit. “Why don’t you walk me through how you ended up here?”

He sighed, rubbing his eyes with one hand. Then, he picked up his glass. “I went looking for—for Thanos. I couldn’t find him. The end."

"Yeah, first you went to Titan," Carol said knowingly, with a nod. "Then Morag, Knowhere, Chandilar, Korbin, Tantus IV…"

"Followed by Kitson, Paramatar, and Contraxia," Thor finished for her. He looked up from his drink, his smile unfriendly. "Did you travel all this way just to make sure I couldn't drink in peace?"

"Actually, I'm here to bring you back."

He took a large swig from his glass, and laughed bitterly. "Then I wish you luck, Danvers."

She smirked, but did not rise to the bait. "Things have changed, Thor. I honestly didn't believe it at first, but we have a chance to fix what Thanos did five years ago. I've seen a lot, but this science is still way beyond me. Quantum stuff." She paused, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "Sometimes I think geniuses just like to put the word 'quantum' in front of any other word to make it sound cool."

Thor let out a noncommittal grunt.

“They’ve figured out how to travel through time, Thor.  _ Without _ an Infinity Stone.”

That sobered him up—slightly—and made him turn his full attention on her for the first time since she’d entered the bar. “That is not a chance. It’s suicide.”

Carol shrugged. “I mean, yeah, there’s a risk, but they’ve—”

“No. Traveling through time is like traveling through realms,” Thor continued. He swayed a little in his seat, but managed to hold his posture straight. “Without a clear, well-defined path to follow, there can be no safety. It could rip a hole in reality. They could blink the Earth out of existence!”

With a roll of her eyes, Carol replied, “Okay, look, you’re not saying anything I haven’t already heard from Stark. But they’re doing this with or without you. And between you and me, they’ll have a better chance of pulling it off if you’re there.” She paused, then added in a lower voice, “You know, in all the time I’ve been out there in the universe, I’ve met a lot of people. They tell lots of stories about you. Not just people from Asgard or any of the other Nine Realms. The Thor that they knew, the Thor that I’ve heard so much about, he wouldn’t turn his back on a second chance. Not if it meant saving trillions of lives.”

Silence hung in the air between them. As the seconds ticked by, and Thor did not respond, Carol’s brow furrowed. She sighed and stood up, reaching into her pocket, and slapped a few dozen units onto the counter.

“This should cover your tab, plus one more. You want to grieve, fine. You want to feel sorry for yourself, go for it. I’m not going to pretend I understand what you’ve been through. But you weren’t the only one who failed that day, so what are you going to do if you’re the only one who  _ doesn’t _ try to fix it?”

Then she turned on her heel and made for the door.

Thor scowled at the contents of his glass. There was no reflection to be found in the purple liquid, for which he was glad. He didn’t want to know what Carol had seen.

“Damn it.”

He cast the glass onto the counter with more force than necessary, causing it to topple and spill the drink. The bartender hurried over with a rag, yelling at him in an alien language, but Thor paid him no mind. He stood up and, after another brief hesitation, followed Carol out the door.

* * *

With Stormbreaker, returning to Earth, was a simple enough task. The power to open the Bifrost allowed Thor to channel himself and Carol across the galaxy in a heartbeat.

When he emerged from the pillar of light, and stepped onto solid ground, his mouth turned to ash.

The Wakandan plains looked almost the same as they had five years ago. The only difference was the lack of an encroaching alien army. The plains were quiet, deserted, save for a handful of what looked like civilians milling around a spot several yards ahead. The ground had been flattened and several stone slabs had been placed in a circle, all of them around the statue of a man and a woman—he wore a sleek, black suit with claws, and she had a pair of cannons on her forearms. 

A monument to the fallen. To the people he’d failed to save. It was hardly the first he’d seen in the past five years, but it still slipped a fresh knife between his ribs.

“Thor,” Carol said, stepping out of the Bifrost beside him. “Come on. Let’s go.”

She led him away from the plains, back toward the city of Birnin Zana. Under different circumstances, Thor would have been amazed by Wakanda—it was clearly the most advanced nation on Earth, so much that, in a way, it made him homesick for Asgard. The gleaming citadel reminded him of the palace he’d grown up in—though the aesthetics of Wakanda were entirely different from his home’s, the place radiated authority and unmatched supremacy. Except Thor had a feeling that, unlike Asgard, Wakanda had not achieved its prosperity through imperial conquest.

When they entered the citadel, and then the palace inside its walls, Thor expected to be stopped by the various guards posted around—fierce-looking women in red and silver armor. However, they did nothing.

“We’re expected,” Carol explained when he gave her a confused look.

She led him to an elevator, which they rode up in silence. When the doors opened, Carol stepped out first and faced him.

“I’ve got to go handle some stuff. You’ll find some of the others in the room beyond. You good here?”

He nodded. Evidently satisfied by this, Carol winked at him and strode off down an adjacent hallway. 

Thor took a deep breath and, exiting the elevator, pushed open the door ahead of him.

Whatever the room had once been, it was now clear of all obstacles, revealing a large amount of floor space. In the room’s center sat a large technological dais, in the shape of a hexagon. There were ramps extending up it from each side, and above hovered a series of dozens and dozens of glass lenses, curving in a convex shape across the entire platform. It appeared to be partially constructed of Wakandan tech, but the handiwork was decidedly different from the rest of the palace and strangely familiar...

As Thor stepped closer, a voice behind him said, “You’re drifting left.”

He glanced over his shoulder and stepped aside as none other than Tony Stark walked past, dragging a huge piece of rubber tubing over his shoulder. “One side there, Point Break,” he said with a sideways smirk. Then, as he approached the machine, he called out, “Ratchet, how’s it going?”

“It’s Rocket!” came a voice from underneath the platform. Thor had to crane his head, but he could make out a furry little shape hanging from a beam, fiddling with some electrical wiring. “Take it easy. You’re only a genius on Earth, pal.”

“Actually, I’ve been to space, so doesn’t that make me a genius in the rest of the universe as well?” Tony snarked back, dropping the tubing on the ground and dusting his hands off. 

“What is this?” Thor rumbled as he stopped a few feet from the machine.

“Uh, well, we don’t actually have a name for it yet,” Tony admitted, glancing at him and giving him a once-over. “Guess I owe Danvers five bucks.”

That stung a bit. “You bet that I would turn my back on you?”

“No, just that she’d have to at least punch you a few times first.” Tony seemed...remarkably at ease. He was a bit thinner, his hair several shades lighter, but if it weren’t for those things Thor would have considered him identical to the younger and more annoying version he’d met all those years ago.

“It doesn’t need a name,” Rocket snapped from his position out of sight. “It’s not a pet. It’s a giant shrink ray.”

Thor raised an eyebrow at Tony, who shrugged. “That’s an oversimplification, but he’s not actually wrong. We’ll give you the full scoop as soon as you shower and, uh, sleep off whatever’s on your breath. Cap’s one room over, he can show you where to go.”

Thor glanced down at himself—and privately admitted that a shower and a nap were probably overdue. “Very well.”

He turned to leave, only for Tony to grab his arm. “By the way, Thor? It’s good to see you again.”

He still wasn’t convinced that their plan wouldn’t doom everyone, but he had to admit that as he gave Tony a small smile and walked off, he felt little lighter than he had for the past five years.

* * *

Yet, after cleaning up a bit, Thor found himself too restless to sleep. Eventually, after several hours of politely exploring the palace and reacquainting with old friends, he found the one he’d been looking for most.

Bruce sat by a floor-to-ceiling window, going over data on a holographic touchpad in his hands. He was muttering to himself, brow slightly furrowed, and remained completely oblivious to Thor’s approach until he cleared his throat.

“Banner.”

Bruce jumped, immediately looking up and then scrambling to his feet. “Thor! It’s, uh...it’s good to see you.”

He smiled, but the air between them was stale and awkward. There were too many things Thor wanted to say.

“I...believe I owe you an apology.” He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling uncharacteristically sheepish.

Before he could continue, however, Bruce shook his head and stepped closer, waving away his words. “Stop, stop. You don’t owe me anything, Thor. You were in a rough spot. We all are. We  _ still _ are. But you’re here now, and that’s all that matters.”

Thor blinked, taken aback.

“Come on,” Bruce said. He attempted to put an arm around Thor’s shoulder, but was too short and settled for giving him a pat on the back, gently steering him away. “Steve’s about to call a meeting. We should get going.”

The meeting, as it turned out, was in a common area under the palace, one floor above the science lab. As Thor and Bruce walked inside, they were joined by one of the guards—Okoye, he was pretty sure was her name. There was a large, circular sofa of black leather in the middle of the common room. Steve and Natasha were already there, pouring over what looked like handwritten notes scattered across a table in front of them.

“What are you doing?” he asked, causing the pair to look up.

“Going over strategy,” Natasha replied.

“Thanks for coming. I want to get us all on the same page,” Steve said, smiling slightly. “You’re not the only one with reservations.”

Thor hummed lowly. “Indeed.”

Sure enough, a few minutes later the others scattered around the palace began to converge on the sitting room. Thor recognized most of the people in attendance—everyone who had been present on the trip to the Garden five years ago, plus Tony. Clint, who now sported an undercut and a tattoo, had rejoined the team. Also present was a skinny little man Steve introduced as Scott.

“I think it’s time we break down our plan, here,” Steve began, as everyone took seats on the couch. It was just large enough to fit them all comfortably. “Some of you know more than others, but I’ll start from the beginning. About a month ago, Scott—” He gestured at the other man, who waved sheepishly. “—showed up on our doorstep. We thought he’d been a victim of Thanos, but it turns out he was trapped in another world. A quantum realm, it’s called.”

“Time doesn’t operate by the same laws as it does here,” Natasha continued, her eyes flicking over everyone’s faces. “Thanks to Tony, we’ve found a way to access this realm and carve a path through it. We can step through time. We think we can get the Stones and use them to bring everyone back.”

“Hang on.” Clint had his arms crossed, his posture tensed up. “If you’ve had this stuff for a month, why are we still here? Why haven’t we grabbed the Stones?”

Steve opened his mouth to reply, then seemed to consider it, and inclined his head to his left. “Tony?”

Tony leaned forward, elbows on his knees, threading his fingers together. “I should have made a recording of myself so I don’t have to keep saying it: time is highly sensitive and the science we’re dealing with is completely unknown and untested. There’s a thousand things we still don’t know, but what we do know is that right now no one outside this room and Queen Ramonda has any idea what we’re cooking up. As long as things stay that way, we have the time we need to make sure it’s all done right. There’s no reason to rush this. The Stones aren’t going anywhere.”

“Originally, I thought we could just pick a point in time and go collect them, one by one,” Steve said. “But it’s not as simple as that. Any changes we make to the past could destroy everything we’re trying to protect.”

Okoye’s nostrils flared. “Then what is the solution?”

“We gotta pick a point in time where the Stones won’t be missed. Where they can be removed from history without changing anything,” Tony explained, very seriously. “That means—”

“Thanos,” Thor finished for him, his voice deathly calm. “You’re talking about going after Thanos.”

Silence fell around the room, and when Tony didn’t correct Thor, all eyes turned to him.

“Hey, don’t look at me,” he protested, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Cap, you wanna explain your master plan?”

Now everyone turned to attention back to Steve, who exhaled loudly. He glanced down at his hands, then back up at them.

“There’s only one point in time where the Stones are all in the same place, and where they won’t be missed. That’s the moment Thanos obliterated them. When we found him, twenty-three days after he snapped his fingers, the Stones were already gone. But we know that he used them two days ago. Which means we have the exact date of their destruction.”

“Either way, the Stones end,” Tony clarified. “Whether they’re actually destroyed or we remove them from the timeline, there is no future for them beyond that day. Succeed or fail, everything else remains intact.”

“Except Thanos would know,” Nebula pointed out quietly. “We go back in time, we grab the Stones from him—assuming we don’t die in the process—but as long as he knows what we did, the entire timeline will still be at risk.”

“That, my lovely blue meanie, is why Thanos is never going to find out.”

Rocket was the first person to get Tony’s meaning. “So we’re supposed to steal the Infinity Stones from Thanos without him finding out, but also somehow convince him that he actually did destroy them?” When Tony nodded, he barked out a fake, derisive laugh. “I take what I said about you being a genius! You’re insane.”

“Again, not my plan.” Tony gestured back to Steve.

“Natasha, Bruce, Scott and I put our heads together and we think we’ve figured out a way to do it.” He reached forward and tapped the coffee table twice. A holographic image was projected straight from the center of the wood, depicting a familiar-looking savannah, as well as three figures Thor recognized instantly: Thanos, Vision, and Wanda.

“This is footage put together from the Hulkbuster and War Machine armors,” Steve explained. As he spoke, the video began. Wanda was pouring scarlet energy from her hands into Vision’s forehead. As Thanos approached from behind, she fired a separate torrent of power at him, slowing down his advance, until—

Vision exploded into a blast of yellow light, and when it faded, there was nothing left. He’d been completely atomized. There was no dialogue, for which Thor was selfishly grateful—he didn’t want to hear what had been said that day.

Thanos smacked aside Wanda, then reached out with the Infinity Gauntlet. A green mandala appeared around his wrist, and he turned his fist in a counter-clockwise motion. The Time Stone on his thumb glowed a bright green, and Vision was instantly reformed in a reverse playback of the explosion. Then, Thanos seized him by the throat and reached for his forehead—

The footage paused, and then the recording switched off.

Steve tapped the table again, and this time another image appeared—that of the Time Stone, surrounded by an aura of emerald energy.

“We don’t need all the Infinity Stones from Thanos. We just need one.”

Thor frowned. One Stone instead of six was hardly an improvement on their chances.

“Fortunately,” Tony cut in, before anyone could protest. “We’ve spent a lot of time around the Infinity Stones. Mostly the Space Stone, and then Mind Stone, but their readings are nearly identical.”

As he spoke, he reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a small ring box.

“I also happened to take several scans of the Time Stone before Strange gave it away. And with all that, I present to you...”

He opened the box, and held it out for everyone to see.

Nestled inside the little container was a green stone roughly the same size and shape of the Infinity Stones. It also radiated a green aura, although it was very slightly dimmer than the real thing.

“Stark.” Thor’s hand found Stormbreaker’s grip, and his fingers tightened around it. “What is that?”

Tony scoffed. “Just a little something I whipped up in the lab. You think it took me a month to build  _ just _ a time machine? Please.”

“How did you do this?” Okoye asked. Clint reached out toward the stone, but Tony pulled it back and gave him a look.

“I went digging through a lot of my dad’s research. He studied the Space Stone for a long time, and next to S.H.I.E.L.D., he had the biggest collection of data on it. He even got Emmy Noether to take a look at it.” Evidently this was supposed to impress people, because when nobody reacted, Tony frowned. “She saved Einstein’s Theory of Relativity?”

“Tony,” Natasha warned.

“Right, right. So, the Stones operate in ways that we can’t quantify. But Noether’s theorem states that there is symmetry in all the Laws of Conservation. If I pick up a rock and drop it outside instead of inside, or tomorrow instead of today, it’s still going to fall to the ground.  _ That’s _ what these Stones harness, at least partly, and it’s what I can replicate.”

Scott raised his hand, as if he were in a classroom. “And you used this to make...a fake Time Stone?”

“Yeah, along with a ton of tachyon particles, some vibranium, gamma radiation, a diamond core—”

Thor was unconvinced. The Time Stone was an incomprehensibly powerful artifact. He had seen Midgardian science do much in Tony’s hands, but replicating the power of an Infinity Stone was something that not even the greatest minds of Asgard could have been capable of. 

Evidently, Rocket had similar thoughts—his tail had begun to thrash agitatedly. “You expect to fool Thanos with a little glowing rock? The second he tries to use that he’s going to realize something’s up. And that’s assuming we even get the real one off his gauntlet.”

“This stone can mimic the Time Stone’s power for...maybe 60 seconds, max,” Tony said. “That’s enough time for Thanos to snap his fingers and trick him into thinking he blew it to hell with the rest of the Stones. When the coast is clear, we use the Time Stone to repair the other Stones, then get the hell out of dodge.”

“It’s not going to be easy,” Steve chimed in.

“Yeah, no kidding.”

“But we have the where and the when. We just need the how. That’s what everyone here is for.” He gestured to the assortment of people around him. “We need to do this right. We only have enough Pym Particles for one round trip.”

“Plus two test runs,” Scott added. “Which, I was thinking—we also need to test that this whole extraction theory actually works. Any ideas on that?”

“I’ll do it,” Clint volunteered.

Thor wasn’t quite sure why, but Tony, Natasha, Steve, and Rhodey all raised their eyebrows in surprise.

“I’m serious,” he continued, meeting their gazes defiantly. “Let’s do it.”

* * *

Bruce, Rhodey, Nebula, and Rocket all accompanied Clint. They didn’t protest when Thor tagged along. He wanted to see this time travel for himself.

“You’re still not convinced,” Bruce noted as they rode the elevator back to the palace’s above-ground floors.

Thor grunted. “Would you be, if you were me?”

“No, maybe not.”

As Nebula and Rocket pulled Clint aside to suit him up, the other three entered the large room with the time machine. Bruce hurried over to a series of holographic screens and began typing. There was a loud whirring sound as the machine hummed to life.

“Man, this Wakandan tech is something else,” Rhodey whistled, eyeing the machine. “Tony estimated it would have taken nearly three times as long to build this machine at the compound.”

“It would have gone even quicker if T’Challa’s sister were here,” Bruce commented. “But at least the queen allowed us to make use of her lab.”

The doors opened again, the other three. Clint had now been dressed up in a red and white nanotech suit, which reminded Thor of the Hulk’s bedroom back on Sakaar.

“Alright, Clint, you’re gonna feel a little discombobulated from the chronoshift, but that’s normal,” Bruce said. “You have a destination in mind? Somewhere familiar, like ho—”

“No.” There was the faintest crack in Clint’s voice, but his expression remained completely neutral. “No, I...I have someplace else in mind.”

Thor understood what he was feeling. If he had the opportunity to go back, to see his family...he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stand it. He might not return.

Clint tapped at a screen on the forearm of his suit. As he did, a second screen appeared in front of Bruce, feeding him data. His eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hair.

“Are you sure?”

Clint held up a little triangular device—Thor wasn’t sure what it was. “We’ve got enough Pym Particles for another test run, right? One way in, one way out.”

“Yeah.”

“Then consider this two trial runs.” He walked up the ramp of the time machine, to the center. A helmet materialized around his head. “By the way, how quickly do you think you can get a medical team here?”

That wasn’t encouraging. Thor glanced at Rocket, who shrugged.

Bruce forced out a laugh. “Don’t worry, Clint, it’s completely safe. On three, two—”

“It’s not for me.”

“—one. Wait, what?”

Too late. There was an echoing boom as Clint’s entire form collapsed in on itself, shrinking at a high-speed rate until he had quite literally blinked out of existence, accompanied by a flash of light.

Approximately five seconds later, there was another burst as Clint returned. Thor threw up a hand to shield his eyes.

When he lowered it, his jaw dropped.

Another person had returned with Clint, wearing a quantum suit as well—evidently the one meant for a second trial. Clint was trying to support them, but the person was quite clearly dead weight.

“Help me!” he shouted, nearly dropping them.

Thor rushed over first, grabbing the newcomer up in his arms as easily as if they were a sack of feathers. Clint’s helmet retracted, and his nanotech suit disappeared into its housing unit. The stranger’s suit did the same, and Thor nearly dropped him.

In his arms, riddled with bullets, but somehow just  _ barely _ alive, was Pietro Maximoff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emmy Noether was a real person. She died in 1935, so I made her live longer in the Marvel universe, but you should look her up. She's great.
> 
> I am skipping over quite a bit of Endgame now. You don't need to see a transcript of Natasha finding Clint and frankly juggling all these characters is taxing. But that'll become easier the farther I distance this fic from the film, I think. The next chapter may have some Endgame or Endgame-adjacent scenes, but after that we'll leave the film behind. 
> 
> If you want an explanation, Clint's chapter is up next, and we'll see why he did what he did, as well as how.
> 
> As always, I really would appreciate if you dropped a comment. I'm only as productive as the feedback I get.


	4. Results

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint returns from the past with Pietro, and the aftereffects from his trip are felt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I hope you're all well. I took a small break from writing, but I'm coming back a lot better now, I think. I've shaken off some personal restrictions I gave myself and decided to focus on enjoying writing again.

Time travel was, in a word, terrifying.

All at once the world around Clint disappeared, and he was hurtling through a kaleidoscope of colors as if he’d been fired out of a cannon. There were several paths before him, and he had no idea which one was the right one.

But evidently, his suit did. As he looked around wildly at all his oncoming options, its HUD blinked green over one of them. There was hardly any sensation of gravity, despite the fact that he could feel the speed at which he was flying, but Clint managed to angle himself into the wormhole and—

With a yell, he exploded into existence, his feet slamming into the ground with enough force to make his knees buckle. All at once, sensory information flooded his brain.

He could smell smoke, gunpowder, and burnt rubber. There was a tremor in the ground, as if he were standing directly above a subway track. Daylight struck at his eyes, much brighter than the inside of the Wakandan palace. The air was thin, harder to breathe but not yet suffocating. The screams of terrified civilians rang in his ears, distant but unmistakable.

Sokovia, 2015. Ultron’s last stand.

His suit disappeared back inside its housing unit, revealing Clint’s black uniform. He’d left behind his sword, instead opting for what was more familiar. 

The nanotech bow, courtesy of Wakanda’s science division, expanded to its full form in seconds. Across his back, his quiver did the same. 

A bellowing roar rang through the air, and Clint looked up just in time to see Ultron—his prime body, actually—sail in an arc across the city. Several sentries took the skies like a flock of frightened birds, scattering in an attempt to flee.

Clint ignored them. If the drones were running, then he didn’t have much time. 

A ruined house lay before him, its front wall completely exposed. Most of the second floor had been destroyed, but the stairs were intact and there was enough floor space left to provide a decent vantage point. He sprinted forward, taking the steps two at a time, and crouched by the shattered window. After taking a moment to inspect his surroundings, he peeked his head over the window’s edge to look beyond.

The church was where Ultron’s device had been fastened into the heart of the city. There were only four Avengers left inside—Wanda, Steve, Natasha, and...himself.

 _I’m going to need so much therapy,_ Clint thought as he watched his younger self beckon to Natasha. The pair of them ran off, in the opposite direction of his position. 

Then Steve turned around, and Clint ducked back down to avoid being seen. He counted three breaths, then chanced another look.

Only Wanda was left now, and Christ, he’d forgotten how young she was. The last time he’d seen her, she’d only been a year older than the one he laid eyes on now, but it was clear how much she’d matured in such a short amount of time. This Wanda scanned the battlefield with the nervousness of a new recruit, and she practically jumped out of her skin when her brother sped into the church behind her.

He was too far away to hear what they were saying, but it didn’t matter. He’d found his target.

The sound of crunching glass reached his ears, and he glanced down just in time to see Steve’s blonde head round the corner of the building he was currently squatting in. He was sweeping for survivors.

 _Shit._ He crouched down again, and scrambled away from the window. He couldn’t let anyone see him—there was no way Steve would believe that he was the Clint of 2015. Eight years had made a hell of a difference.

The street in front of his house was in plain view. Quickly notching an arrow, he drew it back and let go. The projectile shot to the other side of the street and hit the window of a parked car, shattering it. A moment later, Steve’s footsteps grew louder and then quieter as he rushed past Clint’s hiding spot to check out the noise.

A quick glance back at the church confirmed that Pietro had gone. Clint didn’t know exactly where he was, but he knew where he’d end up. He just had to get there first.

He fired a cable arrow out the window, attaching it to the church’s wall. Wanda didn’t even notice it—untrained as she was, getting past her would be child’s play. He slipped out the window and quickly shimmied across the cable, then free-climbed up to the roof. From there, he could see the helicarrier and its lifeboats, where the last citizens to be evacuated would all be fleeing to. 

Suddenly an Ultron sentry, drenched in scarlet energy, burst out of the roof in front of him. Clint raised his bow, but before he could shoot the energy ripped the robot apart as if it were made of straw. He glanced down into the newly-made hole, and saw Wanda fighting back a fresh assault from more drones. 

She lacked finesse, but still made quick work of the first two, crushing them into each other, then hurled a red bolt into a third, which promptly exploded. As Clint watched, a fourth sentry entered the building behind her. Wanda, unaware of the presence, finished her work with the three sentries and let the red energy around her hands fade away.

“Come on, kid,” Clint murmured, as the sentry raised its arm cannon at her exposed back.

He didn’t have to worry, right? She survived this battle. Everything was written in stone already.

But if that were true, he wouldn’t be here at all, would he?

The cannon charged. Too late, Wanda whirled around.

All conscious decision leaving him, Clint drew back an arrow and shot the sentry dead-center in its forehead. He didn’t wait to see what else happened, ducking away from the hole as Wanda looked up for her savior, and continued on.

It was easy to get to where the last lifeboat had docked against the floating city. There were hardly any people around, and Clint had been running rooftops since before he knew how to use a bow. He leapt over a gap between two buildings—

A cold, metal hand grabbed his ankle and yanked him down hard. He seized the edge of the roof, clinging to it like a lifeline, and looked down.

An Ultron sentry, missing a leg and part of its face, dangled below him. With his free foot, Clint kicked at its head, trying to get free. The sentry warbled something unintelligible, then ignited its remaining boot thruster. It shot straight into the air, past Clint, and pulled him with it. The pair of them crashed onto the rooftop in a heap.

He had all his limbs still attached, so the advantage was his. Clint kicked the sentry off him and pulled an arrow from his quiver. With no time to draw it back on his bow, he rushed forward to stab the sentry in the chest. Unfortunately, this seemed to barely slow it down—it grabbed him by the throat, pulling him closer to its distorted face. Then the blue lights behind its eyes turned red.

 _“Barton, I thought I saw...”_ Ultron’s voice trailed off as he took in the view of his enemy, and how very different he looked.

That was all the distraction Clint needed. He pulled the arrow out of the sentry’s chest, then jammed it under its jaw. Its eyelights dimmed, and the drone released its hold on him, crumpling to the floor lifelessly.

“Yeah, you didn’t see nothing,” Clint muttered, kicking it for good measure. “Asshole.”

A burst of gunfire caught his attention. The Avengers’ quinjet had just strafed a playground, and continued its barrage directly for the lifeboats. Clint saw Steve and Thor rush for cover, and he followed shots’ trajectory.

The Clint from this time period was holding a little boy—Costel, his name had been—and attempting to shield him from the bullets. It was a futile gesture, but there was no cover to get to and no time to run.

As Clint resumed running toward the scene, he steeled himself. Now came the hard part.

He had to let this happen.

A blue-white blur whirled around Clint and Costel, and where there hadn’t been before, there was now a partially destroyed car.

Pietro had also appeared, next to the present-time Clint and Costel. He collapsed to the ground, riddled with bullets.

Clint skidded to a stop a few buildings away, close enough to make out the scene but not enough to alert them of his presence. His eyes were locked onto Pietro’s body.

He remembered this day for a lot of reasons, but Pietro was one of the biggest. He was a kid, just as much a kid as Wanda. Whatever mistakes he’d made, he didn’t deserve this fate.

What haunted him most about Pietro’s death was that he hadn’t _immediately_ died. There had been a subtle rise and fall of his chest, shaky and weak. Steve had wanted to try to save him, but Clint knew it was a lost cause. Pietro had had minutes at best, and there was no medical facility on Earth that could heal that kind of damage. It was impossible.

Or, it had been, until Clint learned of Wakanda. With all their advancements, they could do it. Steve and Natasha had told him how they healed even the most grievous of wounds overnight.

If there was even a chance…

He watched himself pick up the boy, while Steve stooped down to hoist up Pietro.

This was the moment. He had to change things.

He pulled out an arrow and notched it.

“Sorry about this, Cap.”

Then he released. It was a nonlethal shot, hitting the center of Steve’s chest. The arrow exploded, knocking him off his feet. Clint’s past self immediately booked it for the lifeboat, to get Costel to safety.

Clint shot several more arrows, peppering the ground around Pietro. Steve scrambled to avoid the barrage, looking around wildly for its source. He drew his shield, but Clint shot it, before it could be used to break his cover.

He had to make him leave without Pietro.

But Steve—gallant, loyal, _annoyingly_ stubborn Steve—refused to leave any man behind. He dropped on all fours, army-crawling his way over.

“Oh, for fuck’s safe,” Clint growled.

There was an iron statue nearby, depicting some well-dressed man most likely from Sokovian history. Deciding to make use of it, he hit it with an explosive arrow to detonate at the base of the statue. With a groan, the figure toppled over toward Steve. He rolled to avoid it, and the statue landed just between him and Pietro.

Someone shouted his name, making him look back toward the lifeboats. They were leaving. If he didn’t get out now, there would be no escape.

Since he still wasn’t moving, Clint fired a few more arrows at him. Finally, mercifully, Steve began to reluctantly run back to the lifeboats.

Clint’s bow retracted into itself, and he clipped it to his hip. Now he had to hoof it.

Pietro was two buildings away. He took a running start, leaping over to the first. Then he cleared the second gap, and, without breaking stride, jumped off the roof. Hitting the pavement below, he rolled into his landing and scrambled over to Pietro’s position. 

There was no time to feel for a pulse or check his breathing. He pulled out a little white triangular device Nebula had given him—another quantum suit. As soon as he slapped it on Pietro’s chest, it instantly morphed around him. Hopefully whatever tech Tony had put inside it could help keep him alive a little longer.

Suddenly, a massive whine filled the air, reverberating up from the ground below him.

He was used to being in high places, and had ridden in an elevator before, so Clint knew the feeling of vertigo. And yet, this was still the only time he truly understood what it felt like to have the ground drop out from under you. The earth beneath his feet propelled itself away from him like a repelling magnet, leaving him weightless in the air. Various Ultron sentries, the few that had survived the battle so far, were equally helpless. Some of them grappled onto buildings or signposts, others attempted to fly away from the falling city, only to be fried by a stray lightning bolt, courtesy of Thor.

He seized Pietro’s arm to keep him from floating away, and searched for the trigger mechanism in the suit’s gauntlet. He just had to—

Something slammed into his back, wrapping its arms around him. He tried to yell, flailing helplessly, but the force of the descent had stripped all the air from his lungs, and he couldn’t breathe.

 _“You’ll never win,”_ Ultron’s voice whispered in his ear. _“You can’t kill me.”_

Clint tapped the button on Pietro’s forearm. It turned blue, and he smirked. _Wanna bet?_

Then he activated both the suits, and they were gone, slipping out of the sentry’s grip and hurtling deep into spacetime. He kept a tight grip on Pietro, trying to steer them both toward the correct wormhole.

_Almost, almost…_

His feet hit the floor of the time machine, and this time his knees did not buckle. Pietro, however, was dead weight, and Clint nearly fell over trying to keep him upright.

“Help me!” he shouted at his audience, who were simply staring with their mouths agape. Thor reacted first, rushing over to pick up Pietro. Along with Clint, his quantum suit retracted, revealing the mess of blood and bullet wounds littering his body.

“Get a medic!” Rhodey shouted. Bruce was already scrambling off. A heartbeat later, four Wakandans burst into the room, escorting what looked like a giant hoverboard. Belatedly, Clint realized it was a stretcher as they loaded Pietro on it. Without even a backwards glance, the Wakandans rushed back through the doors the way they had come.

Silence fell. Clint heaved out a breath, grateful to be breathing normal air again.

Rhodey clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You alright?”

He nodded, and then, despite himself, started laughing quietly.

Rhodey glanced back at Nebula and Rocket, who had lingered by the time machine’s control station. They both shrugged.

“We did it,” Clint said, composing himself. Still, it was impossible to suppress the relief and joy that he felt—for the first time in five years, he had a reason to keep living.

* * *

Against all odds, the Wakandan doctors were able to stabilize Pietro. They confessed that even their science had been pushed to its limit, and he would likely not have survived if not for an accelerated healing factor that came with his abilities.

A few hours after returning from the past, Clint was nursing a persistent headache in one of the upper floors of the palace. He stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the sun set over the horizon.

“You know, when you volunteered for a test run, somehow I imagined you bringing back something...smaller.”

He chuckled dryly at Natasha's comment, as she stepped beside him. She had no eyes for the view, though--Clint could feel her gaze firmly fixed on him. He shrugged.

“Yeah, well, go big or go home, right?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her lips twitch. “You could have gone anywhere, Clint. Why Sokovia?”

He did not respond right away, instead choosing to study a flock of birds taking flight over the cityscape. 

Pietro wasn’t the first person he’d lost as an Avenger, or during his time with S.H.I.E.L.D. Civilians, fellow agents...sometimes you did everything you possibly could, and even then not everyone got to walk away.

“Well...we’re shorthanded,” he replied slowly. “We couldn’t bring anyone like Sam or Wanda back, right? I mean, the rules of this stuff are a bit beyond me, but that seemed pretty clear. The kid, on the other hand...well, same logic as the Stones, right? Either dead or pulled out of time, he didn’t have a future past Sokovia. And now we’ve got another man on our side.” A pause, then he added, “Plus, I thought his speed would be useful.”

Natasha gave a noncommittal hum. He could tell she knew there was something else.

He sighed, caving under her stoic persistence. “I don’t know, Nat, I guess I just wanted a win. I mean, you and I, we’ve buried so many...and if— _when_ we bring everyone back, it’ll be a nice surprise for Wanda.”

"Careful." There was a playful edge to her voice. "For a minute there you almost sounded optimistic."

He ducked his head, chuckling. The noise broke off into a quiet groan, however, as fresh pain stabbed behind his eyes.

Natasha reached out and pulled his face in her direction, eyeing it critically. "You alright?"

"Yeah, I'm good. Just a migraine—"As he spoke, his vision blurred, as if everything had just been put in front of a smudged lens.

Then he swayed, stumbled, and blacked out before he even made contact with the floor.

* * *

Rhythmic beeping woke him up. He thought, for a moment, it was an alarm, but the sound was too steady and quiet.

He opened his eyes, and immediately recognized the palace's science lab. Across the length of the room, Pietro lay in a cot. His injuries seemed to have mostly healed—how much time has passed?

Several feet adjacent to Pietro's cot, Bruce had his back to Clint, inspecting several holographic displays.

"What the hell," he groaned, thickly, as he sat up. Immediately he was hit by a rush of vertigo. It made him collapse back onto his pillow.

"Hey, hey! Take it easy." Bruce sounded a lot closer now—when the unpleasant sensation finally subsided and cleared his vision, he found the other man standing at the foot of his bed. "You're alright...I think. But you're not going anywhere until I say so. You’ve been out for two days."

He rubbed sleep out of one of his eyes. His head hurt, but not as much as before. "What happened?"

Bruce bit his lip, which Clint thought was _very_ discouraging. "You know I mentioned you could feel discombobulated from the chronoshift?"

"Vaguely. If this is what you meant, you're not using that word right, man."

"No, see—" Bruce sighed. "This is an extreme reaction. You changed something in the past, you had to have. It's the only explanation."

"'Course I did. That's why Speedy over there is with us again."

"No, not that. There was some kind of effect. Our memories. The team's memories. Steve, Natasha, Thor, Tony, Rhodey, they've all got killer headaches. Steve's been having dizzy spells too."

"But not you?"

"I was...not myself that day. Besides, the Hulk was already long gone by the time the battle ended. There's nothing for him to remember to _be_ different. Clint, _what_ did you do?"

His voice had grown steadily more anxious. It made his teeth ache. He waved a hand at Bruce, closing his eyes. "Alright, alright, um…when I went back to Sokovia, I shot a few arrows at Steve. I had to get him to leave Pietro's body behind, so I could grab him."

Oddly enough, as he said this, he could remember the scene from two perspectives. He remembered Pietro collapsing next to him, after he'd made his sacrifice. He remembered Steve picking him up—

Another spike of pain blitzed through his head, and he let out a tiny groan. 

No. That wasn't right. Steve...had tried, but there were explosions preventing him. They hadn't been able to pinpoint the source.

Eight years later, as the memory shifted perspective to his time-displaced self, he realized they had their answer.

"This is weird. It's like there's two different versions of the same thing in my head. Three, if you count me watching everything like a time-traveling fly on the wall."

Bruce nodded, as if Clint were confirming a suspicion of his. "You changed some memories. Not a lot, not enough to cause a paradox or anything—I think we'd know by now if that were the case. But because you changed things your mind and body are trying to compensate. That explains why Steve is having a worse reaction than the others, and why you passed out."

Clint digested that slowly. "How long will the headache last?"

Bruce shrugged. "There's no medical precedent for this, nor a quantum one—Tony isn't sure either. We'll just have to wait and see."

A groan interrupted them. Both men glanced over at Pietro’s cot in time to see him stir. It was the first sign of life Clint head seen from him since he’d been brought back. Bruce immediately beelined over to him, shooting Clint a stern look that said _Don’t even think about getting up._

Reluctantly, he laid his head back on his pillow and stared up at the ceiling. “How is he?”

“Getting there. His body’s mostly done healing by now.” He couldn’t see Bruce anymore, but knew he was likely checking over Pietro’s vitals, and other medical nonsense that escaped him. “How are we going to tell him...about...”

“I’ll do it.” It only seemed right to him. He was responsible for bringing Pietro forward in time. That made breaking the news about Wanda was his burden.

To his slight surprise, Bruce didn’t protest. “Then you might wanna start preparing yourself. I would be surprised if he doesn’t wake up today.”

He excused himself shortly after that, quietly promising that if Clint needed anything, he was just outside. As much as he wanted to immediately get out of the bed and stretch his legs, fatigue still had an iron grip on him, and within the hour he drifted back into dreamless sleep.

The next time he woke, it wasn’t by choice. Clint’s eyes shot open before his brain had fully processed the disruptive trigger for his waking—a startled yelp and a _thump._ As he slowly sat up, he peered across the room to find Pietro on the floor, having apparently rolled onto the floor. When they locked eyes, Pietro ceased trying to free himself from the bedsheet.

“Barton?”

“Hi.”

“What...I thought I was dead.”

Clint smirked. “Yeah. Bet you didn’t see that one coming.”

Pietro stared at him for another moment. Then, flatly, he said, “You got old. Old _er._ Why?”

Ah. “Well—”

“Where’s my sister?” Pietro successfully kicked the sheets away and tried to stand up. However, he only got about halfway off the floor before his legs failed him, and he clutched at the bed for support, hoisting himself into a precarious leaning position. “Wanda? Wanda! Where are you?”

Clint grimaced, and any trace of a good mood in him vanished like a light bulb blowing. It must have shown on his face, too, because Pietro’s eyes narrowed. So much for easing into things.

“There’s a lot to catch you up on, man. I...let’s start after Sokovia.”

* * *

It took Clint roughly an hour to recount all of what had transpired, and then another for Pietro to calm down enough to be told about time travel and the plan. Clint glossed over the past five years and his time as Ronin, instead focusing on the three after Sokovia, right up until Thanos snapped his fingers. Bruce gave Clint the green light during that time, but he stayed until he was finished recounting everything. Once he started, he didn’t want to stop.

To say that Pietro didn’t take the news well would be a vast understatement. 

“How is he?” Steve asked, as Clint stepped out of the elevator.

“Well, he broke a lot of equipment.” Okoye, who stood behind Steve, grimaced. “Otherwise...give him time. It’s a lot to process.”

“The sooner the better,” Natasha piped up from a chair in the corner. Despite her words, there was nothing but sympathy on her face. “We need him. Tony’s just finished calibrating everyone’s suits. We’re ready to leave as soon as we’re able.”

“He knows about the plan,” Clint replied, shrugging his shoulders slightly. “I don’t know how long it will...”

He trailed off and stepped aside as the elevator opened again, behind him. 

Pietro stepped out. Bruce was right behind him, looking mildly displeased that his patient was upright and mobile, but he seemed to have realized that no words would keep him in the science lab any longer.

No one spoke as Pietro appraised the Avengers in the room.

Finally, after several moments of uncomfortable silence, he said, “We have a job to do, right? What are we waiting for?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Clint saw Natasha smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter might seem like a filler, but it sets a precedent for something that will happen later in the story. It's one of those...hindsight things.
> 
> Natasha's chapter is next, and let me clear--the Time Heist (or whatever this new plan is called) is happening then. You and I have both waited long enough--it's time to get the ball rolling. These characters have been dead for too long.


	5. Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Time Heist, seen through Natasha's eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To say that writing this chapter was difficult would be an understatement. In the end, I think I'm still not satisfied with it, but sometimes you have to power through the part you don't like to get to the stuff you REALLY want to write.
> 
> Also, I've rewritten this chapter three times and I don't want to do it a fourth.
> 
> A warning, there's mild description of Thanos losing his arm. I think it's pretty tame, though.

When they emerged from the tunnel of light, Natasha immediately felt the contents of her stomach turn upside down. She swayed in her seat, holding her stomach. “Ugh.”

In the seat beside her, Clint grimaced. “Yeah. That doesn’t get better.”

“Everyone alright back there?” Rocket called from the pilot’s seat. “All limbs are attached, no one’s head switched places with their butt or anything?”

_ What? _ Rhodey mouthed at the others.

“We’re fine,” Steve replied, ever the stoic soldier. He put a finger to the communicator in his ear. “How’s it looking outside?”

_ “We’re all good out here, Cap,” _ came Tony’s reply.  _ “On your signal.” _

The entire ship jolted, and Rocket scowled at out the cockpit’s front window. “Hey, watch it!”

Beyond the glass, a pair of massive blue eyes squinted at them. Then, Pietro’s accented voice drifted through the communicator.  _ “Sorry. This is...very strange.” _

“Tell me about it,” Nebula muttered.

“Rocket, Nebula. Take us in.”

A muted hum sounded throughout the ship as its engines ignited, and then the ship rocketed forward. The ship swerved in a wide arc, giving its passengers a clear view of the other half of their team.

Carol, Tony, Pietro, Thor, and Scott were groundside and normal-sized. As Natasha watched, Scott vanished, shrinking down into a near-imperceptible size. Tony’s armor shimmered and then blended in with his surroundings, rendering him nearly invisible. Pietro blurred and then vanished, disappearing into the foliage beyond. Thor and Carol crouched low and ducked behind a fallen log--they weren’t the most stealthy, but their strength necessitated that they stay outside the ship.

Ironically, they had the easier job. The hard task belonged to the  _ Benatar _ .

“I’m scanning the area around us, but at this size it’s impossible to get a far-range reading,” Rocket reported. “Maybe a few feet in front of us at real-people size, but otherwise we’re flying blind. I hope this plan of yours works.”

The miniature  _ Benatar _ propelled forward, zipping around branches and vines. At regular size, returning to the spot where the Stones had last been would have taken a few minutes. For the ship, it took nearly thirty. But time was a small price to pay for the increased stealth. They weren’t invisible, though with any luck they’d be mistaken for a bug if spotted. As they flew, Natasha found herself developing a grudging respect for Rocket’s skills as he navigated them through the jungle.

When the  _ Benatar _ burst into the clearing, sunflight flooded the cockpit from above, and everyone shielded their eyes. Rocket brought the ship to a hard stop, then ignited the downward-facing thrusters to ascend the ship over the clearing.

It had been five years, but even without the charred, blackened ground, there was no mistaking the area. She had been trained to imprint even the slightest detail of an environment into her brain, and this wasn’t a place she would soon forget. In place of the crater, a simple wooden hut had been constructed offset from the clearing’s center. There were several gouged rows of earth scattered around it, evidently plots for gardening. A crude well had been dug in the center, and on the south side of the clearing was a wooden cross, from which hung an ornamental set of armor--it was scarred and exposed to the elements, as if it hadn’t seen use in a while. It took her a moment to realize that it was supposed to be some kind of scarecrow.

“Guess he was being literal when he called it the Garden,” Rhodey remarked.

“Where is he?” Nebula wondered quietly, ignoring the comment. She leaned forward in her seat, staring down at the habitat.

“Scan’s showing multiple footprints criss-crossing all over the place,” Rocket replied, tapping a screen in between his and Nebula’s chairs. “But thermal imaging says he’s inside. He’s not moving. Think he’s asleep?”

Natasha wasn’t about to believe they could be that lucky. “Rhodey, you’re up.”

He nodded. “Scott.”

_ “Yeah?” _

“You’re sure it’s safe for me to leave the ship like this?”

_ “Absolutely. Just don’t take off your helmet. Or let it get damaged. And if you feel homicidal, let someone know.” _

“Wonderful.” With an eyeroll, Rhodey unhooked himself from his seat and strode toward the back of the ship. “Alright. I’m ready.”

Natasha craned around in her seat to watch as the ship’s backdoor ramp opened, revealing the lush world below. Rhodey gave her a dry salute, then stepped backward off the ramp. His boots ignited, and he spiraled down toward the hut, a tiny red-and-white dot. To anyone else, he’d be nothing more than a gnat.

A few moments later, he said,  _ “Got eyes on him. He’s just...sitting there.” _

A holographic screen blinked into existence across the front of the cockpit--a live feed from Rhodey’s suit. In it, they could see Thanos himself. His back was turned, but there was no mistaking that hulking figure. He was indeed sitting, as Rhodey had said, directly in front of a little fireplace. His shoulders were slightly hunched, as if he were studying something in his lap.

_ “He’s definitely not asleep.” _ Rhodey’s voice was barely a whisper.  _ “What do we do?” _

“Stick with the plan,” Steve replied. “Wait until he’s about to destroy the Stones. We need to time this right.”

Natasha frowned. Something wasn’t right.

Nothing ever went according to plan.  _ Ever. _ There was always an unknown variable, something overlooked or unforeseen. 

She unhooked herself from her seat and joined Rocket and Nebula at the front, eyeing the video feed suspiciously. “Rhodey, get out of there.”

_ “What?”  _

She glanced over her shoulder, meeting Steve’s blue eyes unflinchingly.

He didn’t waste time doubting her. “You heard her, Rhoey. Pull back.”

Bruce’s brow furrowed as he eyed the pair. “What? What’s going on?”

_ I don’t know, _ she almost said, but held her tongue at the last moment. She  _ did _ know—something was screaming at her that they’d  _ missed _ something, and she’d learned long ago to trust her inherent feelings.

So instead, she let her instinct answer. “I don’t think Thanos is alone down there.”

“Uh, guys?”

All eyes turned back to the live feed. Rhodey had moved, flattening himself against the far wall of the hut. A split second later, the front door opened, and someone else stepped inside.

Something cold dropped out of Natasha’s stomach, sinking into the floor beneath her.

Thanos spoke first. It was a statement, simple and emotionless.  _ “Daughter.” _

In the doorway, Proxima Midnight knelt, bowing as she did so.  _ “Father.” _

“Impossible,” Nebula whispered. “You told me she died in Wakanda.”

“She did,” Natasha replied. “I...I saw it.”

“The Stones,” Bruce suggested, his face ashen. “He could have used them.”

“If there is anyone Thanos would have returned to life with the Stones, it would be Gamora,” Nebula refuted firmly. “But that is irrelevant—my father would not go against his own personal mission for any of his children. Not even her.”

“He doesn’t look like he used the Stones more than once, anyway,” Rocket added. “His face doesn’t look like grilled cheese.”

Inside the hut, Rhodey said nothing. He tilted his head slightly, allowing a better view of both aliens.

_ “Why have you returned?” _ Thanos asked.

Only then did Proxima stand up. She didn’t have her spear on her.  _ “Your...your children worry for you, Father.” _

_ “Why?” _ Natasha didn’t know Thanos well enough to identify particular facets of his personality, but he sounded distant. Distracted. Like he was barely aware of her presence, or was sleepwalking.

_ “Three weeks now, you’ve stayed here.” _ Proxima, on the other hand, was clearly nervous. Her posture was much more submissive than any she’d demonstrated on Earth. But that made sense. Thanos was her master. Still, there  _ was _ a subtle difference between loyalty and fear. Right now Natasha wasn’t sure which she was seeing.  _ “Recovering. Your work is complete. You said so yourself. You...you always said what would happen afterward. The Stones—” _

Thanos’ back straightened. Slowly, he stood up and turned around. There was several feet of distance between him and his daughter, but nevertheless he towered over her, radiating dominance.

_ “What would you know of the Stones?” _ Thanos asked curiously. His tone was deceptively light.

Proxima hesitated, then seemed to swallow her fear and stand her ground.  _ “I know what you have told me of them. That they are tools, but dangerous ones—” _

With unexpected speed, Thanos surged forward and seized Proxima by the throat with his gauntleted hand, then slammed her against the wall next to the door. His grip tightened, and Proxima’s legs kicked out frantically as she was lifted off the ground. She clutched at the massive fingers cutting off her air, but to absolutely no effect. 

Beside them, through the open doorway, there was a flash of metal. Thanos released Proxima, reeling back to clutch as his arm. Just below his elbow was a deep gash, dripping fresh, dark, purplish blood.

Proxima scrambled away from him, toward her savior—Corvus Glaive.

“I saw him die,” Steve murmured. “What’s going on?”

His last question appeared to be directed toward Nebula. Stonyfaced, she replied, “I know just as much as you do.”

Proxima and Corvus were almost entirely out of view, nearly outside the hut, but Rhodey didn’t move to get a clearer picture of them, for which Natasha was glad. They could hear just fine as Proxima gasped for air, and between breaths she wheezed,  _ “You...once spoke of temptation...how it can undo even the most focused individual. _ ”

Thanos paused.

_ “We have served you faithfully, sire,” _ Corvus added, glancing at his companion.  _ “We would not speak out of turn on a whim. Maw and Obsidian both agree with us.” _

_ “And yet they are not here,” _ Thanos noted. But he didn’t move to strike.

_ “We thought the four of us together would...send the wrong message.” _ Unbelievably, there was an undercurrent in Corvus’ voice that was  _ familiar _ to Natasha.  _ We hoped you would trust us. _

It made her think of Siberia, of crimson snow and broken childhoods.

_ “Gamora would agree with us.” _ Proxima spoke up. Thanos moved again, but seemed to control himself and mull over her words.  _ “Three weeks now, you’ve kept us at a distance. We did as you asked. We left you to tend to your wounds and grieve for her.” _

_ “But you are not well.” _ Corvus’ voice picked up where Proxima had left off seamlessly.  _ “You spend your days and nights studying the Stones. What is there that distracts you?” _

Silence fell, and Natasha almost began to wonder if their connection had frozen when Thanos finally spoke.

_ “Gamora lives.” _

In the seat in front of Natasha, Nebula drew in a breath sharply.

_ “Sire?” _

_ “She lives,” _ Thanos repeated. He held up the Infinity Gauntlet, and the orange stone in the knuckle of his pinkie finger glowed slightly.  _ “In here. She...she speaks to me.” _

Natasha glanced over at Steve, and found that the expression on his face mirrored her emotions. If it were anyone else, she would be tempted to take pity, after hearing the level of grief and regret in Thanos’ voice. It was impossible to forget or forgive what he’d done, but this was...almost too personal to be watching. It felt like an intrusion.

Still, it was easy for her to stifle those feelings. Gamora’s death was still his fault. Along with trillions of others. 

_ “She is gone, Father,” _ Proxima replied, with a gentleness Natasha wouldn’t have thought possible from her.  _ “I understand you favored her, but...you must allow her memory to rest. For her own sake. Grant her the same dignity you would give any of your other children.” _

Ironic that she would say that. Perhaps his children weren’t aware that they’d cheated death? Anything was possible.

_ “Return to the Sanctuary.” _

_ “Sire?” _ Corvus asked.

_ “You are right, Corvus. And you, Proxima. I...I have let myself be controlled by the Stones for too long. Return to the ship, and come collect me when I summon you. And Corvus, leave your blade here. I have a need for it.” _

If either of them were reluctant to leave their master, they didn’t show it. Corvus stepped fully back into frame, handing over his weapon. As he did, Thanos clasped his shoulder with his unarmored hand. It was a bizarrely parental gesture for a genocidal maniac.

_ “Thank you, son.” _

He followed them out. Rhodey audibly relaxed as soon as he was alone, breathing shakily into his communicator.

_ “Okay, I’ve seen enough.” _

_ “Guys,” _ Carol’s voice drifted into their ears. Natasha had almost forgotten about the other team.  _ “There’s a ship entering the planet’s atmosphere, fast. It’s big. Really big.” _

“Thanos’ flagship,” Nebula stated. She wasn’t the most expressive person, but what little inflection was usually in her voice was gone. It was as if she’d turned herself to stone. “The Sanctuary. He must have recovered it after using the gauntlet. Or his forces did.”

“Can it detect us?” Bruce asked, glancing up at the ceiling as if he could see through it to the sky above.

“If we stay close under the treeline, we should be able to hide among the planet’s native biosigns. Unless they start actively looking for something.”

As he spoke, a shadow fell over them. Natasha There were no windows on the ceiling, but Natasha didn’t need to look up to know what the source was. The  _ Benatar _ ’s thrusted died down, and they descended into the shade of a gnarled tree.

_ “It scooped up Proxima and Corvus,” _ Carol reported.  _ “Now there’s just Thanos down here. He’s alone.” _

“Rhodey, go. It’s now or never,” Steve ordered.

_ “Copy.” _ From the War Machine armor’s live feed, they watched as Rhodey took flight and flew outside. Thanos was indeed alone, standing in the center of the clearing. He was examining the Stones on his armored knuckles, his back to the hut.

_ “Base of the neck, right Tones?” _

_ “Yup,” _ Tony replied, his voice calm and even.  _ “Best reaction happens the closer it is to the brain. But even then, I got no idea how long it’ll hold him.” _

_ “Uh, wait, what about the ship?” _ Scott sounded nervous.  _ “What if it sees us?” _

_ “I got that covered. I’m hitting it with as many viruses as I can—when one of them takes, I can cause a sensor malfunction. That’s your window. Rhodey, as soon as I tell you, activate the disruptor.” _

Rhodey closed in on Thanos, landing on the collar of his shirt. He pulled out a tiny, handheld device that almost looked like a car key fob. “Ready.”

“Uh, guys?” Rocket suddenly interjected. “I think we’ve got a problem.”

Natasha’s gaze snapped over to him. “What? Where?”

In response, Rocket deactivated the view screen, giving them a full view out of the cockpit. A thick tree branch ran directly underneath the ship, and near where the limb connected to the trunk, crouched a small animal. It looked vaguely like a bird, except it was covered with blue scales instead of feathers, and two sets of wings. Natasha recognized it as the same type of animal she and Steve had seen on their first visit to the Garden. 

She had thought they were beautiful creatures. Now, however, when the _ Benatar _ was no doubt the size and shape of a particularly tasty insect, it was  _ significantly _ more terrifying.

“Shit!” Rocket threw the ship into a nosedive. The creature screeched, an echoing roar that made Natasha’s eardrums ache, and it spread all four of its wings to chase them.

_ “What? What’s happening?” _ Rhodey demanded.

“One of the locals!” Natasha shouted back, as Rocket yelled defiantly at the animal. The Benatar spiraled around the tree, attempting to lose its pursuer, but with no success. “I’ll get back to you!”

“Get on a gun and shoot it!” Rocket demanded.

“We’re too small, we’ll never hurt it,” Nebula shot back. She was significantly more composed than her copilot, though not any quieter. “Just try and lose it!”

“This was not part of the plan,” Clint muttered as he got up from his seat. He drew his bow as he stalked toward the back of the ship. He jumped down a set of stairs leading to the lower level, disappearing from view.

Natasha tapped a button on the armrest of her seat, and a smaller screen blinked into view, once again displaying a feed from the War Machine armor. Beside her, Steve did the same.

“Rhodey, right now you’ve got no extraction,” she said. “If Thanos snaps his fingers now, there’s no way you can get clear in time. Not at your size.”

_ “Pretty sure that’s not up to me,” _ Rhodey replied dryly. In the video’s peripheral, she could see Thanos lifting up his gauntleted hand. There was an edge of resignation in Rhodey’s voice that she did  _ not _ like.  _ “Tony, are you ready? Kill the ship’s sensors.” _

There was a strangled noise in response.  _ “Rhodey...” _

_ “We are not debating this! If you have the shot, take it!” _

For a moment there was silence on the communicator, and the only noise was Rocket’s frenzied yells as he continued dogfighting the bird. No one else said anything. Not even Steve would give the order. They’d lost too many people already.

_ “I’m in,” _ Tony whispered.  _ “Do it.” _

Through the screen, she watched Rhodey press the trigger on the device in his hand. At once, black veins bulged up from Thanos’ purple skin, and he went stock still, as the nerve disruptor paralyzed his entire body.

Rhodey didn’t dare move from his position, but he did turn his head to watch the second team spring into action. Carol and Thor emerged from the jungle, striking while Thanos’ head couldn’t turn to face them. Thor grabbed the sleeve of the gauntlet and dug his heels into the dirt, while Carol took a deep breath and plunged her hand directly at the Time Stone.

The second her fingers wrapped around it, arcs of green energy cascaded outward from the Stone, and Carol gritted her teeth, clearly biting back a scream. The pull of the other Stones was almost magnetic—they didn’t want to relinquish one of their own. For all the power of Captain Marvel, the Infinity Stones could give as good as they got.

The stone came loose ever so slightly, and an emerald shock wave exploded forth, sending Thor to his knees. But Carol held fast.

An ear-splitting shriek broke Natasha’s concentration. She looked up from the screen just in time to see a flash of blue scales, and Clint whoop victoriously in her ear.

“What did you do?”

_ “Shot it in the eye. That’ll teach it to mess with us!” _

“Rocket, get us back there, now!” Steve ordered.

A burst of light pulled her attention back to the screen. Carol had managed to get her fingers under the Stone, and was slowly pulling it up from its socket. Even though it was no longer physically attached to the Infinity Gauntlet, the gravity well created by the power of the other Stones was preventing it from leaving their proximity.

At least it was until, with a growl, Carol pulled with all her might, and the Time Stone finally snapped free from the energy barrier. Thor released his hold on the gauntlet immediately backpedaled with Carol.

“Pi—”

Steve didn’t even get to finish the word before there was a blur around Thanos, and suddenly the empty socket on the gauntlet had been fitted with a brand new green rock. A brilliant flash of multicolored aura washed over Thanos’ body as the replacement Time Stone fitted snugly into its new home.

“YES!” Bruce shouted, earning a reproachful glare from Nebula. “Sorry.”

_ “Readings are holding,” _ Tony reported.  _ “About as close to stable as we’re gonna get. Good work, everyone. Now get the hell out of there!” _

No sooner had he said that did Rhodey’s device explode in his hands. The black veins disappeared under Thanos’ skin.

_ “Guys.” _ There was a tinge of fear in his voice now, something Natasha recognized from the airport in Germany--familiar and unpleasant territory.  _ “The suit’s not responding.” _

“Radiation from the Stones,” Bruce realized, dawning horror in his voice. “At that size, the gamma particles can’t be shielded against.”

“We’re coming to get you, Rhodey,” Natasha reported, as the  _ Benatar _ banked hard and pulled a one-eighty, rocketing back toward the clearing. “Hang on!”

She unstrapped herself from her seat, unable to sit and watch any longer. Steve shouted after her as she left, but his words fell on deaf ears. 

They didn’t come this far to fall short now. Everyone walked home from this.  _ Everyone. _

Whatever it takes.

Clint was still in the hangar when she arrived. The bay doors had already shut after he’d taken his shot, but Natasha slapped the override button and they began to open again.

“What are you doing?” he asked, giving her a puzzled look.

“Cable arrow, now!” she ordered, pointing at the far wall. He obeyed without question, and she snatched the other end of the lead from his quiver, then clipped it to her belt. “Get ready to shut those doors.”

“Natasha, wait!” he shouted. “NATASHA!”

Too late—she’d already dove out of the hangar. Her suit’s helmet would give her a steady air supply even at this velocity, but she still had the breath knocked out of her when the cable went taut and jolted her harshly.

At this size, she was so small it was impossible to get a good view of what was going on beyond the mass that was Thanos’ back. But she could see Rhodey, standing out brightly against the beige material. 

The force of the flight as Rocket banked across Thanos’ back made her swing wildly, and she didn’t catch Rhodey so much as she did slam into him. Which  _ hurt. _ He wasn’t soft.

Still, she managed to hook her arms under his, and as the  _ Benatar _ soared off, both Avengers were whisked away from Thanos. As the cable began to reel up, Clint’s outstretched hand appeared—

Natasha’s ears popped, and that was the only warning she had before a wave of force knocked into her, and she instantly blacked out.

* * *

“—tasha! Natasha!”

Consciousness rushed back to her in a heartbeat, and her eyes flew open. Arms caught her as she lurched up into a sitting position, and she only struggled for a moment until she realized they belonged to Rhodey.

The  _ Benatar _ ’s hangar had been completely  _ wrecked. _ Black scorch marks roped up the walls at the hangar’s entrance—the door of which was missing—and smoke drifted through the air, while the lights on the ceiling flickered and sparked. 

“What? What happened?” 

She couldn’t tell his expression behind the War Machine helmet, but heard the grimace in his voice. “Best guess? Thanos snapped his fingers.”

“Where’s Clint?” The floor underneath her was still and silent—the ship wasn’t moving. Her ribs protested as she pulled herself to her feet, leaning on Rhodey for support, but otherwise she seemed to be in one piece. The miracle of that wasn’t lost on her. “Your suit’s working again?”

“Yeah. No more Stones, no more interference, I guess. I made Clint go back to Steve and the others. They’re assessing the damage.” Silence fell for a few moments before he said, in a quieter voice, “You saved my life.”

She brushed off the gratitude in his voice with a smirk. “You’d rather I didn’t?”

He chuckled.

There was a hiss as one of the interior doors opened. Clint was the first one inside, relief sinking into his posture immediately as he saw her up and talking. Steve, Nebula, Bruce, and Rocket followed after him.

“I’d tell you not to do anything like that again, but that would imply you’d actually listen to me,” he grumbled, wrapping her in a hug. 

“What’s the situation?” Rhodey asked, addressing the others.

“Ship’s fried. There’s no way she’s getting off the ground, not in this condition,” Rocket replied. He kicked aside a piece of metal, his ears back. “I’m open to suggestions.”

“Scott?” Steve spoke into his communicator. “Come in, Scott.”

_ “Cap! Thank God. When your signal cut out... Where are you?” _

“We don’t know. But we’re still small, and the  _ Benatar _ ’s grounded. We’re stuck.”

“I’m looking for you now.”

“Rhodey, I’m patching you in to my helmet,” Tony reported. “See if you can use the surroundings to find where you are.”

Rhodey opened his hand, and from the repulsor in his palm a holographic screen blinked into existence. Tony was several yards above the ground, perhaps on a tree branch, looking down on Thanos’ farm.

Except the farm was gone. In its place the ground was blackened and charred—the same sight the Avengers would see when they arrived on this planet in two days. By then, Thanos would be gone.

The being in question knelt in the middle of the devastated land, clutching at his left arm. It was shriveled and emaciated, as if rapidly atrophied, and he had serious burns running across the left side of his torso and face.

“How long until he leaves?” Scott asked. He must be watching the feed as well.

“He was gone by the time we got here two days later. He could leave now, in an hour, tomorrow...” Bruce shrugged. “The waiting game’s not over yet.”

Thanos staggered upright, and Natasha noticed that he was leaning on Corvus’ weapon for support. 

“What is he doing?” Pietro asked.

The question was answered a split second later as Thanos turned the blade on himself, thrusting it into his arm just between his elbow and where the gauntlet ended. He gritted his teeth, and began sawing.

It was ugly, imprecise work. An axe or a saw would have been better—a glaive, even an incredibly durable one such as Corvus’, was not meant to hack through bone and sinew.

Rocket let out a groan. “I’m gonna be sick.”

“Christ.” Clint’s eyes were glued to the screen. “This guy is...something else.”

Natasha didn’t respond. Thanos should have been in  _ agony, _ but he remained quiet while he worked. A minute later, the gauntlet—and his arm—dropped to the ground with a sickening, wet thud.

A moment later, the shadow of the Sanctuary brightened as a pillar of light projected down into the clearing. From it, Corvus and Proxima emerged. 

Thanos handed back the glaive wordlessly. Both of his children stared at the stump where his arm had been, but said nothing.

_ “I need to record a message,” _ Thanos said. His voice was surprisingly steady.  _ “For those who will come here after us.” _

Proxima reached into a pouch on her belt and pulled out a small, black cube.

Natasha recognized it instantly. “I don’t think we’ll be waiting long.”

_ “Return to the Sanctuary. Prepare for departure,” _ Thanos ordered.  _ “I will join you when I’ve finished.” _

They didn’t have to be told twice, scurrying back to the pillar of light and vanishing into the ship’s depths. Thanos tapped the cube with one finger, and it flashed twice, then scanned him from head to toe.

_ “I knew you would find your way here, sooner or later,” _ Thanos began.  _ “No doubt you’re wondering what I’ve done. You, Avengers—however many of you are left—should look to the other survivors and be grateful. The Stones served their purpose—the only thing they could provide now was temptation. Their power may be infinite, but their existence is not. The Stones are gone, reduced to atoms.” _ He paused, then continued.  _ “My work is done. It always will be. Look for me if you wish. If you seek revenge. But it won’t matter. It won’t change anything.” _

Then he stooped, pressing the cube into the hand of the gauntlet and closing its fingers around it.

He didn’t look back as he stepped into the light, and was transported into the Sanctuary. Immediately after vanishing, the ship began to ascend into the atmosphere, and light returned to the surrounding jungle. Tony looked up, following the ship’s progression until it began rapidly shrinking, disappearing into the sky above, and the space beyond.

“Talk about deja vu,” Rhodey muttered. No one laughed.

_ “Al...alright, we’re not done yet,” _ Tony said. “Scott?”

“I’ve got them.”

There was a clatter as Ant-Man himself jogged through the  _ Benatar _ ’s open door. He froze for half a second, then reached into his pocket and pulled out several blue discs. “Who’s first?”

* * *

Immediately after enlarging back to her regular size, Natasha toggled off her helmet. She shook her braid loose, reveling in the freedom, as the other Avengers returned to normal around her.

Judging by where the gauntlet lay, they had actually only been about twenty feet away from Thanos when he snapped his fingers, which meant it was a miracle that they had escaped the explosion alive at all.

Pietro zipped his way over to them first, closely followed by Tony, Thor, and Carol, the latter of whom still held the Time Stone in her hands.

“Are you ready?” Steve asked.

“This thing doesn’t exactly come with an instruction manual,” Carol pointed out. “But, if it’s anything like the Tesseract...”

She closed her fingers around the Time Stone, as everyone else in the group took a few steps back. Carol pointed her fist at the Infinity Gauntlet, and a green mandala appeared around her wrist. She frowned, evidently trying to figure out how to work the artifact, and turned her hand clockwise. When that did nothing, she tried the other direction.

It took a few moments, but Natasha noticed that the light around them began to change colors. Different shockwaves of red, green, orange, yellow, blue, and purple all imploded on each other, as if rewound in a VCR. They coalesced into the gauntlet, in each of the knuckles. There was a slight tug in her center of gravity, as if the universe were reorienting itself to the reversal of their destruction.

In just a handful of seconds, the Infinity Stones were restored. The gauntlet had regained some of its luster, not quite as damaged.

“Leave the glove,” Tony said. “And put it back where we found it. We just need the Stones.”

They were all there. Power, Mind, Space, Reality, Soul…

As Tony and Rocket crouched next to the gauntlet, Natasha’s eyes wandered over to the Time Stone in Carol’s hand. 

It didn’t feel real. It felt like a dream.

Could it really have been as easy as this? Could their greatest failure really have been so simply undone?

The smile on Carol’s face told her that yes, it could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was an early draft where they did the Snap and brought everyone back in this chapter, but it felt too forced, and frankly I'm looking forward to writing Tony for that scene.
> 
> Why are the Black Order alive when they very obviously died in IW? You'll find out, I promise. Just because we're putting Endgame behind us doesn't mean the story's over.


End file.
